


In The End We Are Still The Same

by Animebrains



Series: What is love? [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, IT Chapter One - Fandom, IT Chapter Two - Fandom
Genre: A Series, Angst, Eddie gotta deal with his own shit too, F/M, First Richie needs to deal with his own problems, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Parental Abuse, Reddie, Slow Burn, The second part of the series will have smut, dealing with depression, everyone is hella good friends, first children then teenagers then adults, friendship fluff, then they will be aged up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 11:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animebrains/pseuds/Animebrains
Summary: Richie doesn’t know how to handle the way Eddie makes him feel. Neither does Eddie.After the events of IT chapter 1 (2017)The losers club slowly get to find out more about Richie, then what he would have wanted them to.A fix it fic (series) following Richie and Eddie, growing up. And asking, what if they had met each other before the 27 years passed leading to the events of IT chapter 2 (2019) Would they remember each other? Or fall in love all over again.





	1. Trash Mouth

Richie hates himself. He seriously fucking does. It's so fucking hard to explain how much he fucking hates himself, that he hates himself for not being able to articulate it properly. 

No matter how hard he tries. He cannot, for the life of him stop liking boys. No matter how much he tries to drill it into his head that it's fucking wrong. That he was wrong. That maybe it would just all go away if he avoided it. Bullied it. Dug a hole so deep, that he could throw it down that hole and bury it. Smother it to death and kick it down a well. Never look at it, think of it. Live it. 

But it never worked. 

He just fucking hated himself. He hated everything, every god damn thing. He hated everyone. Every-fucking-one—

Eddie. 

Eddie.

Eddie.

God he could get drunk from the idea of him. His name sweet addictive nicotine on his lips. His body could melt into the earth, just thinking about him. The smell of him, so engulfing and pungent, wrapping him up in layers of lavender shampoo, alcohol wipes and excessive amounts of hand sanitizer. 

The way his eyes flickered to the side every time he got embarrassed when they would watch reruns of Charlie's Angels, and a slightly risqué scene played out on the fuzzy television in Ben's stuffy living room. 

The way his lips would twitch just slightly when he would try and hold in a laugh every time Richie told him a stupid joke. And every time his eyes would never break from his, when they would shove themselves into their own sleeping bags on the floor of Bill's bedroom during slumber parties. While Eddie would then complain about the millions of different germs that could be on the floor, yet never actually getting up because he was too comfortable. 

Or that stupid way he will puff on his inhaler, after just jogging a few feet because he fully believes he is going to die if he doesn't. And that stupid little fanny-pack he keeps that inhaler in, paired with those obnoxiously bright red gym shorts he wears that are entirely too short it should be illegal. 

Or the way the Richie would stare at his lips when Eddie would begrudgingly finally let him copy his homework after hours and hours of complaining about how stupid he thought he was. And the way Eddies voice would come out soft, and small, so fragile it was like Richie could hold it in his hands. "You're not stupid. Some things are just harder for you. But you can do it if you just try, don't call yourself that. Because you're far from it" 

And the way Richies heart would flutter, knowing that someone believed in him. Truly believed in him. 

He doesn't hate Eddie. 

No matter how absolutely infuriating he is, how many times he picks a fight with him, or when he doesn't ever finish a sentence just to piss Richie off. 

He was anal, terrible-with-words. Would repeat himself over and over no matter how many times Richie would yell at him to shut up. He was obsessive, and annoying. And so damn cute. 

But he hates the way he feels. The way he feel about him. This desperate, pinning feeling. That feeling when his chest tightens up, and his breath gets caught in his throat. When he can feel himself shaking, his fingers will tremble, curl up into fists. Is it because of anger? Hate?

Confusion? Longing? Fear?

'I'm afraid.'

Is he afraid of himself? of how he feels? How other people will think of him? How Eddie will think of him. 

Of these thoughts that swirl his mind. Those emotions he can't explain, that raddle through his body, so hard it feels like his ribs are playing ping pong with— with what? What is this feeling? 

God and it's every fucking time, every fucking time his eyes land on Eddie Kasprak. 

It's stupid— it's so stupid. 

He's stupid. Richie it pretty sure it's all just cause he is Grade A— bottom of the barrel—stupid.

"Yeah well the next time you try hang out, tell your mom that I require at least some notice. I'd hate to miss another date night with Ms. K" 

"Shut the fuck up Richie" his voice is bitter, dripping acid that makes his heart hurt. But his eyes are filled with slight amusement, the way his lips curl ever so slightly at the edges. The dusting of pink that make his lips so fucking soft, it's irritating. 

"I wasn't the one who asked everyone to be here, it was Bill" Eddie seethed, but the curl of his lips never dissipated.

That smile is worth it. Any other feeling he might get from the reaction of what he says, is worth dealing with. If he can just make him smile. 

"You're just jealous that I'm getting some sweet pussy while yo—"

"EW, what the FUCK Richie that's my MOM!!" 

"Yeah, I'm aware, that's why it's so awkward. I'm practically your dad at this point" 

"Shut the fuck up Richie, I know that's not true" 

"You could call me daddy if it helps you transition with this new development. Me and your mother are very happy—" 

"I'm not calling you anything other then TRASH—"

"What are you jealous?" He can feel the slight twitch on his lips, it's aching with resolve. He loves teasing him. Making fun of him. Bullying him. Because then Eddie gives him his full attention. Eddie's furious eyes glue to his own, and he has such a temper it makes Richies heart soar. 

His cheeks get bright red with anger, he bears his teeth with conviction. Like a wolf ready to tear Richie apart. 'I wouldn't mind.'

His dimples press into his cheeks, and his eyes flair with a spark. A spark of something. But what ever it is, it's enough to set a light to Richie's insides. To burn him from the inside out, leaving him as ashes beneath Eddie Kasprak. 

"Jealous? What are you STUPID? Why the FUCK would I be jealous oF YOU?? THATS MY MOM" 

'I was hoping you'd be jealous of her.'

"Could you two shut the fuck up?" The voice is sharp, cutting through the air. It's demanding, yet all at once lacks. Like he doesn't really care if they are fighting, just more if he gets to relax. 

Richie turns over to Stan. He's lucky Richie loves him so much. They are so close, but only because they had to be. Being forced to sit next to each other in church when they were the only kids in town the same age, and Jewish. 

Stan embraced it, while Richie ignored it, pushing it away. 

He's is loud and messy. 

While Stan is polished and preppy. 

He's gross and rude. 

Stan is polite and neat. 

God he is so stuck up, so overzealous. So worried about everything being perfect, clean, organized. Yet he ended up with Richie as a best friend. 

They shouldn't work. They really shouldn't. But they do. 

Richie cracks a smile at him, rolling his eyes. "Stan, relax dude. It's all in good fun"

"I don't think this is very fun" Eddie seethes, obviously still heated. His hands ball into a fist, and Richie's eyes slowly move down to look at his dirty, cast. He has two more days with it on, before it finally gets taken off. 

It's warped at the sides, ripping apart, and patched together with more gauze. There is a layer of dirt and blood that he just couldn't scrub out no matter how hard he or his mother tried, and it looks more like a grayish yellow, rather then the bright white it has first been when he got it on his arm. 

The Loser written on the side of it, is faded, but the bright red V crossing through the S is surprisingly still opaque. Richie guesses the red ink is more resilient. 

"Awe Eds, had I known it would have hurt your wittle feelings, I would have done it waAayyyy sooner" there's a grin on Richie's face now. Bright and teasing. 

But of course, as always Eddie doesn't have the same reaction, the frown still plastering his lips. Richie can't help but focus on the twitch of his right brow as he groans in anger, "First off, for the millionth time don't call me Eds. Second, go fuck your self" 

"Why would I do that when I have your mom—" 

"Alright that's enough you two" Stan let's out a large, tired sigh. It rips through his chest, admitting to both of them that no matter how much they enjoy fighting with each other, no one else around them does. 

Richie leans back into the hammock, their little club house finally complete. Well as complete as it will ever be.

Beverly has strung up lights around the dirt covered wood of the ceilings, and Mike painted the walls a lovely shade of blue. 

The floor has a old large rug that Bev found near a dumpster, it has a disgusting, almost dizzying pattern vomited across it, but it's better then walking on literal dirt. 

Ben finished up really enforcing the ceiling structure, much the the relief of both Stan and most of all Eddie who would constantly have mini panic attacks when he entered the place. Ben even began putting metal paneling all along the ground above, as to make sure that it wouldn't flood if it ever rains. Him and Bill were able to figure out how to build some makeshift ventilation, so that it wasn't so stuffy down there. Everyone appreciated being able to breath better. 

It looked nice.

Well actually that's a lie. It looked like trash. But that's okay. Because it was their trash. 

The loser's hangout, was more homey then any of their own homes. Because it isn't the location. It's the people. And where ever they can all be together. That was home. 

Richie was very delighted at the newest home improvement. 

The second hammock. 

It was behind the entrance, all the way across the room on the other side, opposite the the hammock Richie was currently sitting in, while flipping through his Spider-Man comic. 

Finally there would be less bickering on who's turn it would be. Because the second hammock was big enough to fit up to three people. Ben and Mike had put their money together to buy it. It was made of sturdy rope, compared to the flimsy cloth one Richie currently resided in, the new one was the favorite of the group's. 

But Richie didn't care, because this one was his. Since everyone wanted to sit in the new fancy hammock, this one was all to himself. He swung slightly, feeling his smile coming back to his lips. It was relaxing. 

And as Beverly started the climb down the ladder with some more throw pillows, placing them around the inside to make it have, what she called 'a feminine touch.' Richie felt content. 

It had been such a long fucking summer. 

Not a single one of them even mentioned Pennywise since the blood pact. Could you blame them? No one wanted to think about it. No one wanted to relive that trama. Pennywise's disgustingly ugly and stupid laugh, and his stupid little dances. They all wanted to forget. Especially Bill. 

He had lost so much. So much more then any of them. 

Richie's chest tightened thinking about the boy. His first ever crush was on Bill. When they first met, Bill complemented his glasses. Even though that was something Richie was always picked on for. Bill thought they looked cool. It made his heart flutter. 

It only became worse when Bill first stood up for Richie when he was being made fun of by the other kids in elementary school. Bill loudly told them all off, pushing some of them away even, and standing his ground, putting his body between the bullies and Richie. 

Richie had never asked him to do that, and he remembered what Bill told him when they walked home afterwards. "You didn't have to ask. I wanted to do it. Because you deserve better. Because you are better then them." 

And even after Bill had punched him in the face during a argument about Pennywise, he still couldn't help but admire him. Even when he was pissed off. 

But then again how could you not fall in love with Bill Denbrough? He was sweet, charismatic, handsome. He cared so much, and loved everyone, so much. That you could feel it admitting off him. His heart aches and hurts when others hurt. He cried for everyone who couldn't cry for themselves. He gave and never asked for anything in return. His stutter was sweet and endearing, he never let it stop him, or slow him down. His tiny mistakes with his speeches didn't make them any less powerful. And the pain and loss he had gone though didn't make him any less selfless.

After loosing Georgie, he felt like he was responsible for keeping everyone else he had ever loved, safe. To protect them, even at the risk of his own life. 

He was everything to every one in the losers club. A leader, a lover, a friend. 

Richie was sure if anyone of his male friends were anything other then straight, they would have felt the same way about Bill when they first met him. Shit, even Beverly fell for him. 

Richie slowly moved his hand away from the laminated pages of the amazingly fucking awesome adventures of Peter Parker, to gaze down to the palm of his hand. There was a scar, the tissue turning a pinkish white. Everyone had it. The same scar. It brought them together. Bonded them as a family.

Thunk 

There was a soft plop of a bean bag chair being thrown down the hatch, Bill himself peaking down the opening, as if willing himself into existence, being summoned by Richie's thoughts of him. 

He smiled, and it took Richie's breath away. 

He adverted his eyes as Bill climbed down, his eyes instead landing on a now much more calmer Eddie. He was helping Beverly place the beanbag chair in one of the empty corners of the room, allowing her to sit down in it, with a smile on his face. He turned, his eyes suddenly meeting Richie's, that smile never disappearing from his lips. 

Richie felt like he was suffocating. It was so much more different, how he felt about Eddie. So much more intense, so much more extraordinary. It was profound how all consuming it was. The emotions washing over him like a quilted blanket of hysteria. 

Quickly. He ignored it. 

It was for the better. It was for the benefit of everyone. For the group. For his own sanity.

"W-we-we-well well well, looks l-like everyone is alread-dy here. All we have to wait for is M-Mike" Bill pat his hands together to brush off any dust from the ladder, looking around at everything fondly. His slight smile contagious, and absolutely fucking beautiful. 

With his presence, suddenly everyone felt like they knew who they were, what to do, how to feel. It was like being hit with a tranquilizer. 

Richie looked back over at the hammock across the room, Ben and Stanly already squeezing in, as Beverly happily made her way over to Bill. She kissed him sweetly on the cheek and he smiled in return, kissing her back. They seemed like such a happy couple. 

However Richie couldn't help but note the way Ben's eyes would follow her actions, linger a little before quickly breaking his gaze whenever they would kiss. Like he had to watch something that wasn't even his in the first place, be given away right before his very eyes. 

'I know how you feel buddy'

And Richie knew it was even harder for Ben. Because he couldn't be angry at Bill, could never bring himself to hate him. Because of course Beverly would like Bill, everyone likes Bill, and of course Bill would like Beverly, everyone likes Beverly. 

So he was stuck, having to watch two people he knew were basically perfect, wonderful, sweet, and beautiful together, be happy. The girl he loved and the boy he admired and respected. And he knew not to step in the way of their happiness. Because they deserved happiness. 

As Beverly and Bill squished into the newly furbished corner, of the room, weighing down the bean bag, Richie moved his eyes back over to Eddie, who was now, unfortunately walking towards him. 

"What do you want?" Richie asks, seemingly annoyed because he knows the answer, he just doesn’t want it to be true. He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, flipping to the next page. 

"It's my turn in the hammock" Eddie was stern, knowing he would get his way no matter what, in the end. He always did. His hands perched on his hips, as he stared down at Richie with impatience. 

Here we go again— 

"Dude, there is a whole other hammock over there" 

"Ben and Stan are alrea—"

"Yeah and it can fit one more person, AKA you Kasbrak." 

"I don't want to be squished in between two other people it makes me claustrophobic." 

"And the better option is to take this tiny cramp little hammock instead? Why don't you just ask them for their hammock" 

"Because there is two people in that one, compared to the one asshole in this one, it makes more sense to take yours. Less people have to loose hammock privileges. You go sit with them"

"That's no fair. I was sitting here first" 

"Yeah but I need it more then you, it makes more sense" 

"It really doesn't. Why don't you just sit on the floor?" 

Eddie seemed bewildered by this suggestion, basically spluttering out a jumble of incoherent thoughts and stuttering so much he could give Bill a run for his money. 

"Do you not realize how utterly fucking disgusting the ground is? The rug came from a dumpster. A DUMPSTER" he made wild jesters with his hands, eyes looking like they might pop out of his skull, "the amount of germs and bacteria and disease— what if this carpet has AIDS??" 

"I don't think that's how it works, but I do know who might know a thing or two about aids. Your mom see—" Richie began, but he already knew what was coming. It happened way too often, Eddie would just end up forcing himself into the hammock with Richie, sitting basically in his lap. 

Not that he complained at first, it was part of the reason Richie always refused to get out. He always enjoyed having to feel Eddies legs tangled with his, and the press of his body. 

But now Eddie didn't have a excuse, if he really didn't want to squish into a hammock with someone, why did he always insist on doing it with Richie in the much, much smaller hammock. 

It was starting to become a issue, because with Eddie in his lap so often, it posed a lot of problems for a growing teenage boy. The type that he didn't want to think about, and didn't like the idea of it happening with a friend on top of him. Let alone a boy. Suddenly Richie has become much more acutely aware of his body and it's reactions. Especially around his friends.

"For the last fucking time you are not getting in this with me" Richie was getting ready to argue and yell as Eddie swung his leg up to get in. It seems to be such a reoccurring pattern that everyone else knew as well, groaning at the bickering. 

And for the first time someone spoke up, "Eddie here" Beverly offered, voice breaking through the loud argument with soft kind understanding, standing up from the beanbag. Bill following behind her, as she continued, tying her hair into a half assed bun, "you can have this. I'll sit with Richie, so you two don't murder each other" 

Like on cue, Bill was already making his way to sit between Ben and Stan, who both gladly moved out of the way to make room, everyone just relieved to avoid anymore issues. 

Richie as well thankful. At least if Beverly sits with him, he doesn't have to worry about those reactions. Well at least Eddie related reactions. If he reacted to Beverly in his lap, the rest of the group would be understanding. Probably make fun of him, or pick on him, but they wouldn't—

Know your secret? Dirty? Filthy? Faggot.

And as he watched her make her way over to his hammock he scooted back a little to make room, noticing the pretty gold lining of her red shirt underneath her overalls, as she got in, her legs pressing into Richie's sides. 

Richie could see the freckles speckling across her face, leaving her looking like the sun sprinkled kisses upon her cheeks and nose. Her eyes were so pretty and bright blue, as she smiled fondly to Richie. 

Beverly Marsh. If it had not been for Bill or Eddie, Richie was sure he would have fallen for her. 

But he was happy to settle with her being his best friend, at the same level as Stan. He admired the way her nose scrunched up, as she pushed some of her bright red hair behind her ear. 

She was who he confined in, who he could trust with his feelings. He gave her the key to his emotions and knew she would keep it safe, locked away in the cupboards of her brain. 

And whenever his mother got drunk and screamed at him, accidentally letting slip that he was a mistake, that she regretted having him, that truly deep down she didn't care about her only child, and blames him for her terrible marriage. 

Or when his dad would yell, get home angry, under the influence of something different every night, and just start throwing things, constantly finding something to be pissed off about. or even beat his mom, as he hid in his room listening to her cry. Feeling his heart sink into his stomach, as he asked himself, was it really his fault his mom went through all this? 

And when his dad would even sometimes turn from beating his mom, to beating him—  
Beverly would be there. 

Beverly would be there, always, already at their favorite hangout spot, behind the bleachers outside the school, with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and that key to his repressed feelings. The two of them against the world. They would just talk, about anything. It never had to be about what happened. It never had to be about why Richie had a black eye or why he was crying. Sometimes it would just be comfortable silence, and sometimes it would be talks— long, breathy, tired and labored, about their horrible parents. 

She would rest her head in the crook of his shoulder and neck, just holding hands. If it rained they would snuggle closer together, and drape a coat over their shoulders. If it was cold, they would smoke until their cheeks were rosy. And if it was hot out, they would strip their outer layers of clothes, and point out the new bruises on each other. All of which came from their Fathers. And instead of becoming sad about it, they would name each one of those swollen blue indents that painted their skin, figuring out what each shape it looked like. Some looked like rabbits, or hair brushes. And some were just blobs, dark blue and purple, with a gross green yellow lining, looking undeniably like a fist. 

They would just absently smoke, and talk, looking out at the depressingly grey sky of Derry. Daring to dream of a better place they could just run away too, and forget this shitty town. 

And as she finally settled herself into the hammock, she pulled out cigarettes, much to Richie's relief. They knew that they couldn't smoke in there unless the hatch to the club house was letting fresh air in, but because Mike wasn't there yet, the door was left wide open, the last bit of the summer rays leaking through and lighting up the dark den. 

Looking over he can already see Bill, Ben and Stan putting on shower caps as to protect their hair from spiders. Much to his amusement.

Even Beverly gave up on that after the first two weeks because they had finally gotten the placed cleaned up. No more spiderwebs all over the ceiling, so what was the point of wearing those dumb caps anymore?

But what Richie was more annoyed about was that they are scared of spiders in their hair, when they had fought and fucking killed a demon clown. Spiders were nothing compared to Pennywise, but after the first week he stopped commenting on it. 

However— most surprising was Eddie, who was now sitting into the beanbag chair, his tiny body basically being enveloped by the cushioning. His stripped socks all the way up to the bottom of his knees. 

Of all people who would be paranoid enough to wear that dorky shower cap it would be him. Yet after the first time, when Richie had said something about it being stupid, Eddie has always refused to wear them since. He might just be trying to prove something, about being tough or something. It had to be something. 

And as Beverly passed the now lit cigarette that she had already taken a hit from, Richie put the stick between his lips, taking a long drag and relishing in how the poison would relax his nerves. Mike began descending down the ladder by then, holding a tiny fold up table and 2 fold up chairs. He was surprisingly yet not so surprisingly, the strongest of the group, with the most defined and well built muscles. Most likely from his work on the farm, he made it down the ladder with ease, using only one arm. 

Everyone greeted him, all smiling and welcoming him down, as he apologized for being late, needing to carry the table and chairs all the way out here, and finding some difficulty in weaving through the trees. 

Richie thinks he can hear Bill tell Mike that he should have asked for help, But was too focused on Eddie in the beanbag to really tell. Not just because it was so damn cute to look at, because it was— but because Eddie looked so sad. So lonely. 

'But I thought he wanted to sit alone?'

"Well now t-that everyone is here" Richie passed the cigarette back to Beverly, blowing out the smoke from his lungs feeling them beg for fresh air as he looked back towards Bill while he spoke. "I n-now am going to officially begin the L-L-Loser's club meeting" 

Everyone watched Bill with attentive eyes, though Richie's would flicker over to Eddie every once in a while. 

"Summ-su-s-s-summer is almost over" he got out, trying to pace himself, "and we need to m-make it count" 

"Uuuugh" Richie complained, dramatically flinging his head back into the hammock with a groan. "Again with the summer shit? I thought you of all people Bill would be over it?”

Beverly kicked him gently at his side, with a amused grin on her lips. 

"We could maybe go camping?" Mike offered, but that suggestion was quickly met with Richie's laugh of the idea, and the firm "no" from Stan and Eddie. 

"Well we could have another slumber party?" Beverly offered, and it wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't necessarily special. They had sleep overs all the time, most of the time at Bill's place. 

"Well we can't really leave Derry can we?" Eddie asked, voice soft. Richie couldn't tear his eyes off him. 

"Maybe we can" Ben thought out loud, and everyone suddenly looked towards him. The blush on his face, now prominent and spreading over his cheeks. 

"How?" Bill asked, in a genuinely curious voice. 

"Well, maybe we can go on a road trip, go to a museum—" Richie made a point in snoring loudly at that one. "Or a fair, like a carnival or something" 

"Not to be balls deep in some bad news" Beverly laughs, scrunching up her nose, "but I hate fairs" Richie spoke, voice almost acid at the bad memories, and the thought of that stupid statue in the middle of the town.

"Well that's why I said, outside of Derry" 

"And how would we even get there? I doubt we could bike our way to the next nearest festival?" Stan said, slightly annoyed, but being gentle about it, most likely because he was speaking to Ben.

Eddie finally spoke up, "what about— what if we throw a party?" 

Richie's ears perked up, instantly intrigued by such a scandalous idea boasting from the inner workings of Eddie. 

"How would we even do that?" Stan states questionably, seemingly even a little disappointed in Eddie even coming up with an idea like that. 

"I don't know I was just spit balling" Eddie quieted down, taking the rejection not well. He never did really handle his ideas being shot down. But the frown on his face made Richie want to reach out and hold him.

"Well we can try and have a party in the sewers" Richie grinned, as all the heads turned to him wide eyed. "Yeah it'll be fun, plus, we will have a special VIP access for like all the dead kid—s"

"BEEP BEEP, RICHIE" half of them yelled out, and all Richie could do is laugh. God it was fun being a asshole sometimes.

____________

Even after the group had offered one idea to another, in the end they realized a bunch of 13 year olds couldn't really accomplish much, without any resources. So they, many begrudgingly agreed on another sleep over, after a day of the arcade and the movies. 

Everyone had to get money ready for that weekend, mostly for the arcade, and then Ben will buy a ticket, go to the back of the theater and open the doors for the rest of the losers. 

It wasnt much, but they all knew it was enough, anything is enough when they are all together, and that, was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfiction ever. So sorry if it’s really terrible. I’m more writing this for fun. So buckle up!


	2. The Kissing Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand, Richies parents are great! And I implement that into other works. This one in particular is really just for me the vent. So, Richies parents are gonna have to take the fall for this. Sorry man.

Richie had always avoided the kissing bridge. Mainy because that was where so many other teenagers would hang out, those who most likely would enjoy attacking him with crude remarks. 

That was his excuse at least. 

But with the Bower's gang dispersed, there wasn't much of a threat anymore.

He could come up with something else but it wasn't worth his energy. 

Really the only thing stopping Richie was his own fear. And he had to admit that to himself, no matter how much he didn't want to. He was a coward. 

Eddie. 

Fuck, can't he just rest? Every fucking day it is the same shit. Eddie always on his mind, finding a way to leak into his brain, to mold itself into the curves of his membrane. Fitting perfectly into his thoughts like a puzzle piece slotting itself into his subconscious and consuming his sanity entirely. 

So maybe he didn't like going to the kissing bridge, because it was crowded, and loud. Too many people doing what you'd do on such a location. Kiss. 

But he couldn't lie to himself, as he passed by on his bike. It was empty. Secluded, quiet. He was alone. 

Maybe a part of him didn't like being alone. Because it meant he was alone with his thoughts. Meant he could think, and thinking was bad.

Maybe. He liked being confused. 

Because if he was confused then he could never be sure. He could pretend he didn't know the answer. He could just live life, in blissful ignorance. 

Eddie.

His heart settled between his ribs like jelly, and he quickly got off his bike. 

Just earlier today, he was internally making fun of everyone for being afraid of spiders, when they had undoubtedly fought off something far scarier. 

Yet here he was, trembling, terrified at the thought of facing something as simple as his feelings. He pushed his glasses back up his nose, feeling his breath waver. 

If he could kick Pennywise's ass, then he could deal with basic emotions. 

It's just— he doesn't want to admit it. Doesn't want to dwell or confirm that those feelings, are love. 

Love.

Gross, horrifying, violent, cruel love. 

Or that's at least Richie's idea of love. With the way his father and mother treat each other. With the way they treat him. It's even how Beverly talks about it when it comes to her dad.

Love is demanding, it's selfish. Love is bad. 

And it's especially bad when it's towards a boy. The idea of anyone else knowing, of anyone finding out, it was possibly scarier then that stupid clown. 

Because at least if something caused Richie's suffering, it would be Pennywise's fault. But now? Richie was in control. Anything bad happening would be his own fault. He would be to blame. For this thoughts. For his feelings. Why couldn't he just bury it down? Hide it. 

He felt the outline of his pocket knife on the right side of his jean pockets, and pulled it out slowly, tentatively, he was all too aware of the cold metal brushing his hand. 

He looked around, the road was clear, no cars, and most likely no one would walk by, as he looked overhead at the sky and saw the sun would be setting soon. 

Just to humor himself he parked his bike, hitting the kick stand with his sneaker, before walking over to the wooden fencing of the bridge. 

It was covered, absolutely littered with all different types of carvings, some just blantantly names. Other dates, or crude drawings. There were the random peices of gum stuck to the sides of it, but even with everything there, Richie noticed, a basically empty spot, untouched, by any other people. 

He thought about all the different things that could end up there. A dick carving perchance, maybe a silly message like 'I was here!!' Or even a proclaiming of someone's love. 

Slowly he raised his knife to the wood, before quickly pulling away, standing up and cursing at himself. 

Was he stupid? He couldn't do this. This would be just as bad as admitting defeat. 

Defeat? To what? 

'Sissy boy. Flamer. Fairy. Faggot'

Love 

loathsome, monstrous, abhorrent. 

He carded a hand through his dark curls, feeling the sweat from that day building up at his roots, mixing in with the oiliness of his already very dirty hair. 

He slid his glasses off his face, holding it in his right hand balancing it between his thumb and forefinger, with his pocket knife in his palm. He used the free hand to wipe his face, swiping away any stupid ideas that came to him. 

This was dumb, he should just go. 

So he did. Quickly, putting his knife in his pocket, and his glasses back on, he got on his bike. 

And as he rode off, his eyes peered back at that empty, untouched spot on the bridge. Waiting to be carved. Then he was gone. 

________________________

"This is the last fucking time I tell you this Maggie!" Richie flinched at the sound of his father screaming as he, tried to as quietly and discreetly enter his house. The night sky already blanketing Derry with it's ominous warmth. 

"I didn't fucking do anything!" She yelled back, her voices choked up, in a way that Richie recognizes all too well. She only sounds like that when she had either been crying or drunk. But it could always be a mix of both. 

Slowly he creeped through the hallway, moving his head down, as he walked by the opening walkway of the living room. Where his parents were currently screaming at each other. 

He kept his goal simple, just to his room, and lock the door. Hide in there for the rest of the night and try to sleep to the wondrous sounds of his broken family. 

'Smack'

His body jumped at the sound as he was already walking halfway up the stairs to his room. 

He was horrified as his eyes slowly moved up to see what had happened. Usually he would just ignore when his mother would be hit, knowing he was powerless to protect her. Knowing if he interfered it would just make the situation worse for both of them. He knew it too well from experience. 

But this time it wasn't his father who hit his mother. 

His eyes widen at the look on his father's now very noticeable drunken face, as he touched his cheek, bright red and stinging.

Then his eyes flickered to his mother's. She seemed just as surprised of what she did as both of them were. And then, almost instantaneously, his heart sank, fell into the pits of his body, until it lead him into the center of the world, pulling him down with it, and crushing him under the weight. 

His mother had only ever hit his father back, once. 

And Richie remembered, he remembered so vividly he could almost taste the bile that had risen up his throat when he was 9. Watching with tearful eyes as his father pulled off his belt and beat his mother bloody. 

Richie's mom. His favorite memory of her, was when he was 6. All he had wanted for his birthday was a new G. I. Joe. 

And to his surprise she had actually gotten him one. Stole it from one of the boys down the street when she was babysitting. 

She had came home from work around 4. Putting her bags down, and walking to Richie on the living room floor as he watched the TV. 

He looked up at her, and could see a curious look on her face, wondering when would be the right time. He guess she had decided now or never, and handed her son the toy from her purse.

But it wasn't the fact that she got the toy for him that made him so happy. It wasn't even that she had remembered that was what he wanted. Or just even remembered his birthday. Because she sure as hell doesn't now. But it was that she thought about him. That she took a moment out of her day to think about Richie, and what would make him happy. 

And that day he had hugged her harder then he ever had before, demanding to sit in her lap and play with his new toy with her. And she had smiled. She didn't even drink until Richie had gone to bed. He loved his mother. 

Love 

hateful, execrable, sickening. 

His fists clenched. And he was trembling, his heart was beating out of his chest, and his lungs compressed like plastic bags. 

He was fucking scared. 

But god fucking forbid he let something happen to her. He was going to be 14 soon. He was going to be a teenager. He was gonna be a high schooler soon. 

He beat up a fucking evil clown for Christ's sakes. 

He could stand up for his mother. He was strong, tall, and brave. 

But that was what he just told himself. It was all a lie, and he realized pretty quickly how wrong he was.

As he acted against his better judgement and stepped between his mother and his dads fist, the punch landed right into his gut. knocking him back into his mother, as she stumbled out the way. 

He was lanky and weak. His long limbs didn't help his awkward body at all, and as the pain surged through his body, adrenaline rushed through him. But it died down when he heard his mother speak. 

"Get the fuck out of here Richard I swear to god" she seemed pissed. He didn't know if she was pissed at him or his father. It seemed like both. 

"What the fuck do you think your doing? Who do you think you are? Huh?" And then his eyes snapped to his father. Large, looming. His presence was threatening, and it shot dread up Richie's spine. "You think you are being the good guy here? You think your saving her?" His fathers eyes were dark and dangerous, as his words slurred. 

"I bet you think I'm the bad guy huh? Is that what you think of me? When I work all fucking day long so you can eat" he shoved Richie back, into the side of the dining room, cornering him as Richie frantically looked for his mother. But she was gone, took the opportunity to escape. She wasn't going to help him. 

"You are one ungrateful mother fucker aren't you? I work my ass off all day. I do everything for you and this is how you repay me?" He leans in, and Richie tries to not physically cringe at the smell of alchohol wafting off his father's breath. 

"That bitch deserves what she gets." His voice was low and primal, almost like a animal being set off, and then he grabbed Richie by his hair. 

Richie was screaming out, at the pain. And as his father all but dragged his body to the kitchen by his hair, he realized that screaming wasn't going to change anything. He could yell until his voice went hoarse. No one would save him. 

He could feel strands of hair being pulled from his scalp, as he tired to wriggle out of his father's grasps. 

He knew his dad was pissed, he really did, and he knew what he was capable of. But what happened was straight out of a nightmare. 

He reached for one of the kitchen knifes, pulling it out of the holster as the metal clanged against the counter. 

"M-m-MOM!" Richie screeched, it was panicked, dripping with need. Need for his mother. Need for his safety. For his life. And for the first time in his entire life, he was legitimately scared of his father. For the first time in his life, he was begging for his mothers help. 

And as his father pressed the knife into his gut, not breaking the skin, but pressing hard enough that Richie could feel the uncomfortable sharpness of the blade through his shirt, his mother appeared. 

She was standing at the entry way of the kitchen. Eyes filled with shock. And fear. 

Fear for Richie. 

But then she turned away, not wanting to look, not wanting to get to get hurt. 

Not wanting to save him. 

The way he wanted to save her. 

And that was truly painful. Knowing that information about his mother, something he didn't want to be confirmed. She was too much of a coward, that she'd rather let Richie die, then get involved. 

"She isn't going to do shit. She knows better. at least she isn't as fucking stupid as you" his father was fuming, anger dripping like venom from each word out of his lips. 

His father. 

Richie remembered his favorite memory of his dad. It was the one time Richie had to stay home from school cause he was sick. When he was around 11, having just started 6th grade. Richie had caught a fever over 100, and his father actually took a day off work to be with him. 

He sat at the side of Richie's twin size bed, making the mattress warp under his weight. His dad told jokes with him, and wasn't afraid to curse in front of Richie. He even allowed Richie to curse with him as well. It made him feel like he was the coolest person in the world. And when his dad had made horrible horrible soup for Richie. 

Richie had thought to himself. How in the world, could you make that soup horrible? It would have been so hard to mess up canned soup. But his dad found a way. But it was still nice because at least he was trying. 

And when Richie was feeling a little better his dad taught him how to play poker. And was pleasantly surprised at how fast Richie was able to pick it up. 

And then for the rest of the day, they played poker. Betting pop tarts like money. Laughing when they would get crumbs everywhere and started flicking them at each other. 

Richie really did love his dad. 

Love 

Disappointing, confusing, deceiving. 

His father pulled the knife back, as if ready to plunge it into his body. Eyes burning with fury. And right then bad there, fight or flight kicked in. And Richie pushed his father off, kicking at his knees as he tore himself away from his grip. 

He stumbled back as Richie began to run to the other side of the room, grabbing his backpack but then just deciding to abandon it, knowing nothing but school work was rotting away in there. 

For a moment he swore he could see the regret in his fathers eyes, like the sudden realization of what he had planned on doing to Richie. The realization sobering him up. 

"Richie—I. I didn't mean-" he started, voice breaking slightly. 

"I'm leaving" Richie announced, unable to look his father in theeyes. Afraid of what he might see there. Pity. 

The only thing he should feel pitiful about was that Richie had a father like him. 

"Rich" a softer more feminine voice spoke behind him. "It's dark out you can't—" 

"What do you care?!" Richie finally snapped, tears prickling down from his eyes, watering up, and daring to cascade down his cheeks. 

He was outraged, and frankly, pissed off. Done with all of this bullshit.

It was like a sudden break, a break in the dam of his mind. All that build up. That self hate. That questioning about himself, and his thoughts. His fear for himself, for his mother. The thoughts of his friends. His thoughts of 

Eddie. 

He broke, and couldn't get the tears to stop from raining down, pouring onto the roof of his house and breaking the structures. Shaking the foundation, and ripping out the floor from under him. He was truly alone. 

The waterfall came crashing, and he ran. Ran as far as he could.

The sound of his mother's panicked voice being more and more faint the farther he got. 

It was dark out, and as he grabbed onto his bike, he could see the front door of the house swing open, the angry eyes of his father peering from beyond it. "Richard get your ass back here now!"

He didn't listen, just quickly got on, and began peddling. Rushing away from that house with a feverish sinking feeling in his gut. 

All he could feel was the tears on his cheeks become cold with the breeze hitting his face as he rode out of the street, taking a sharp turn to drive towards Eddie's house. Not knowing why he felt the need to. 

And then that sinking feeling was back again. But this time it consumed him. Ate him up and grinded him between it's teeth before spitting him out, and leaving him with the realization. 

His father had tried to kill him. His mother had sat back and watched. 

As he pushed harder and harder, moving fast on the bike he felt the familiar feeling of bile rise up. But this time it was too much to hold. 

He was able to stop at the Kissing bridge, bending over the fencing to vomit out what little was in his stomach. He retched out and felt his stomach contract painfully. 

He clutched his side, trying his best to catch his breath, feeling already light headed at it all. 

He moved back slowly, to sit down for a moment, to collect himself, and to calm his breathing. 

Then his eyes met the empty little spot were he had wanted to carve into earlier. 

He felt sweat drip down his neck as his breathing began to slow down, his body stressed and tired. 

He grabbed his pocket knife, this time actually pressing it into the wood, carving a (R) into the empty space, before adding a (+) right next to it. 

Finally he was able to breath, his lungs able to bring his nerves to a better place. 

His eyes looked down, over at the carving. And quickly got up. It was stupid. What was he thinking? He was just under a lot of stress and needed to let it out. 

He got onto his bike again, eyes lingering over the (R + ) before peddling, and riding his way down the streets of Derry. 

He was finally able to think a little bit more clearly. And he knew as much as he wanted to, he couldn't go to Eddie's. His mother would throw a fucking fit and Richie wasn't in the mood with dealing with more adults. 

He thought of Beverly, but knew her father would be anything other then okay with having a random boy show up at his house in the middle of the night to sleep over in his daughter's room. That is just a recipe for disaster. 

Bill would always let Richie stay, and his parents wouldn't mind either. But Richie needed someone who understood his situation, someone who had known his parents, and known what they are capable of. He needed that moral support. 

And as he finally made his way to Stan's house, he felt the warmth of his tears begin to slowly roll down his face again, his grief making its ever demanding presence known. 

Taking in one deep labored breath, He got off his bike, throwing it down and abandoning it on the side of the road. He made his way to the front of the house, taking in one last deep breath. 

Richie knocked on the door. To which there was no response. 

He tried again, and again a third time. And after 5 minutes he knew he needed to just go to Bill's.

He turned around, and started walking down the steps from the house, when the front door suddenly creaked open. 

"Hello?" A familiar, yet very soft and tired voice spoke out, and Richie turned to see Stan, eyes droopy with a daze. He was wearing blue striped pajamas, and the porch light lit up the tip of his messy hairs.

"Richie?" He asked, confused when Richie finally made his way back up the steps. 

"Dude, What the fuck? You could have woken my parents u—" and then he stopped, pausing as his gaze landed on the red puffiness of Richie's eyes, the tears leaving stains on his red cheeks. 

There was a moment of silence, and Richie noticed Stan was processing everything, taking a moment to allow his body to catch up with his brain.

Stan didn't say anything, just quickly moved out of the way, opening the door wider, to allow Richie in. 

The sudden burst of heat from the house hit Richie like a wall. 

Hesitantly he stepped through the threshold of the Uris household. It had been so long since the last time Richie was in here. 

All the lights were off, the house was silent and dark, undisturbed by the new person entering it. Behind Richie, Stan moved to gently push the front door shut, turning the top nob to lock it once again. 

Then Stanly wordlessly moved his hand down, to intertwine his fingers with Richie's, pulling him up the stairs to his room. And Richie followed, not fighting it. 

His house smelt faintly of potpourri and disinfectant, and the hardwood floor creaked just slightly with each step he took.

Walking down the hallway quietly, as they passed Stan's parents room, they tip toe all the way to the bathroom, were Stan sits Richie down on the edge of the tub. 

After shutting the door, he begins wiping away his tears from his face with tissue paper.

Richie sits. Quiet for once his life, not speaking a single word. and Stanly doesn't push him, he doesn't say anything back, and instead, moves to grab a comb, and brush his hair, seeing the obvious knots managed in Richie's hair, because he was either too depressed, or stressed to take care of himself. 

Or really it was that he didn't care. 

And once he was finished, he pulled Richie up and into his room, sitting him down on his bed as he shuffled around his room, looking around in his closet before pulling out some shirts. Looking at them, he chose the band t-shirt to give to Richie. 

A moment passed, and Richie just kind of looked at it in his lap, tears dripping onto the fabric. He could feel Stan's eyes on him, waiting for him patiently. 

But he didn't move, he didn't have the energy to. And as Stan moved closer he expected a annoyed voice to yell at him, tell him to get over it. 

But instead, what came out was so calm, and so caring, it made him feel safe almost instantly. "Hey, it's okay Rich. I'll do it" 

And just like that, Stan was removing his shirt off his body. Like a mother taking care of her child, and then slipped on the new shirt, discarding the dirty, sweaty shirt into his laundry hamper, folding it first before placing it down. 

Then he moved down the help Richie with his shoes, unlacing them and taking them off, neatly placing them on the side of the bed, tucking the laces back into the shoes. 

Then he removed Richie's jeans. And Richie just sat, like a rag doll, not saying a word. He felt less constricted however when Stan was done, just leaving Richie in his boxers and Stan's t-shirt. It smelled clean, and had not a single wrinkle on it, obviously everything Stan owned had been flat ironed. 

Then he is being pulled into the bed, blankets being draped over his body, and tucked into his sides. He could already feel himself slipping away, drifting into sleep, if it had not been for the disquietude pumping through him.

Stan gets into the bed next, squishing up beside him, reaching to take Richie's glasses off, and placing them on the nightstand closest to him. 

And then they lay there, listening to each other breathe. Richie looked over and could see the rise and fall of Stan's chest. 

They stayed like that for a while. In comfortable silence, as Richie counted each of Stan's breaths. Relaxing into the smell of his best friend all around him. 

And after 30 more minutes of silence, Richie was sure Stan was asleep, slightly shocked when he spoke. 

"What happened Richie?" Stan's voice was dry and rough due to how tired he was. 

"Mom. And dad" Richie said. It was simple. But Stan understood instantly. 

"I didn't see any bruises on your body" Stan admitted, running his hand through Richie's hair. 

"Oh, so that's why you wanted to stripe me like a Barbie?" 

"No asshole" Stan laughed softly, and it made Richie feel better. 

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't get into my bed in those dirty ass clothes." 

Richie rolled his eyes, groaning softly, as to not wake his parents. "Of course you didn't" 

"But I did also wanted to check to see if nothing was broken. Or bruised." Stan admitted, voice soft. 

And Richie sighed, he knew, that everyone basically knew he would get hit by his dad every once in a while. And he knew they would try and check out his body, make sure nothing was severely damaged. 

"Well it could have been worse" Richie whispered, sadness in his words, instant regret filling him for even bringing it up.

Stan turned to his side, to look at Richie. The room was dark, but the soft light from the moon pushing through the windows helped with some visibility. 

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, worry in his tone.

"Dad he—" his voice caught in his throat, as he fought the tears wanting to spill over his eye lids again, "he tried to, cut me open. Like stab me" Richie said, blunt and without warning, not wanting to beat around the bush. 

There was a audible gasp that came from Stan, as he moved closer, and draped his arm around Richie's chest. 

Richie almost didn't hear it, because it was so faint, but under Stan's breath, slipped out a "oh my god."

Richie understood. He knew. Stan was horrified, and even more upset that he couldn't do anything. That he couldn't protect Richie. 

No one could do anything. Richie was stuck, no adult would believe them if they reported it. No one would care. 

And as Richie moved to wrap his arms around Stan, his head fell into his chest, and he began crying. 

Usually Stan would be disgusted by that, not wanting his shirt to be ruined, to get covered in snot and possibly saliva. But he just laid there, Richie in his arms, while he rubbed his back, letting Richie get out what he needed to get out. 

"I hate all of this. I hate them. But I also don't hate them. I love them, and I hate myself for that. God I hate myself" 

"Hey, it's okay. It is. I understand, believe me I do. But you don't deserve any hate. Let alone any from yourself" 

"I thought you said I was the most annoying mother fucker you have ever known?"

"Well yeah. You are" 

Richie laughed softly, it was broken, and small, but it was enough, to make him smile faintly against Stan's chest. 

"And I loved you despite of it" Stan started, "even if you terrorized me everyday with your peak classic Richie annoyingness. I couldn't stop loving you dude. Much less hate you" 

Love. 

It was kind, warm, friendship. 

"God I just. It's so much" 

"What is?" 

But Richie didn't answer. Not wanting to, not daring to allow it to slip. He had just found someone to run to, a safe place to be, he wasn't about to throw it away.

And after a few minutes of silence, Stan spoke. "You know you can tell me anything right?" 

"Yeah" Richie spoke too quick, voice shaking and not convinced. 

Stan sighed, squeezing Richie tightly before pulling away. 

"Rich.." he began, but Richie caught him off. 

"I can't. I can't tell you. Because you will hate me. You will. And you won't want to be my friend anymore. You'll hate me. And you'll never speak to me again. And I won't blame you. It will be no one's fault. But mine."

Stan seemed shocked, eyes round like dinner plates. And then his face softened, as he patted Richie's shoulder. 

"Nothing you say will make me hate you" 

"Wanna bet?" Richie said, bitter, venom in his words. 

Stan moves back down, to pull Richie into his embarce. Richie didn't fight it. 

"Well how long has this issue been bothering you?" 

Stan was avoiding the subject, for Richie's sake, knowing he wasn't comfortable with sharing it yet, and Richie could feel himself relaxing.

"I think I've been dealing with it all my life. Just never wanted to admit it. Never wanted to think about it. But recently it has been eating at me. It's fucking annoying how I can think or focus because of it" 

Stan made a appreciative hum, as he thought for a moment. "Is it about your parents? Or is this another issue that is now just stacked onto the issue of your parents" 

"The second one" Richie spoke defeatedly after a few moments passed. 

"Well it's okay if you cry about that problem as well. You have to face it one way or another" 

"But that's the issue. I don't want to face it. I don't even want to cry about it, because if I do then I'll be admitting it's effecting me, that it's actually there" 

"What is it? Do you have like have a disorder or something? Like you wanna murder people or some shit?" 

"What?? No" 

"Is it that you secretly hate me or someone in the group?" 

"No" 

"Is it that you are secretly a Russian spy?" 

Richie laughed, loud and unabashed, and Stanly just shushed him, but he was laughing too. 

"Well if it isn't any of those, then how bad can it really be?" Stanly asked, pressing his hand into Richie's. 

Richie sighed, commiting the smell and warmth of Stan Uris to his memory one last time before he would never see him again. 

"It's. Just. I—" 

Richie couldn't find his words. He'd never even admitted it to himself before, let alone speak it out loud.

He tried. He really did. He tired to say it, but as he began to form to words on his lips, no voice came out. His body was actively fighting him. Pleading with him to not let it out.

After a few more minutes he tried again, lip quivering.

"I'm gay" 

It burned the inside of his mouth, leaving open wounds in his throat as the words escaped him. He admitted it. Spoke it into existence, laid down the kindling, and allowed the fire to burst. 

And then the air was still, and so was their bodies, their breathing slowed, but Richie could feel the beat of Stan's heart. 

The words coming from Richie's lips tasted sweet yet at the same time left him feeling like he was hacked into with a axe. Directly into his chest, pressing down and taking away his ability to breathe.

Richie prepares himself. Ready for the anger. The disgust, the yelling. He was prepared for the pain. Knowing that loosing his best freind, would be more agonizing then anything else. 

And as the quiet stretched, Richie was left confused, wondering why Stan hadn't pulled away from Richie yet. Accusing him of trying to do nasty things to him like some pervert. 

Instead there was a soft, humored chuckle that shook through Stan's body. It was delicate, like everything from Stan was. 

"Well I guess all those mom jokes have no real merit behind them."

Richie was left shocked and bewildered, he was almost positive he had to be sleeping.

"What?" 

"What?" Stan replied, only pulling away to look at Richie. "Do you not get my joke? That's a first" 

Richie's mouth gapped, not knowing what to say or what to do. 

And as his eyes ajusted to the dark. He could see Stan, his eyes on Richie's face, and a gentle smile on his lips. He wasn't disgusted, he wasn't disappointed. He didn't throw Richie off, he didn't yell.

He just smiled. 

And that was it, just the soft sound of their lungs mixing in the air, and the lull of his friend's hand rubbing his back, in small circular motions, coaxing him to relax.

Richie didn't even realize how stiff he became. How his body became rigid with fear. 

And as his stare watched the twitch of his friend's lips he knew what that was. 

He's seen Stan smile like that before. 

When they had first met, during a communal pot luck at the church. The priest introduced everyone to his son, pride in what a good little Jewish boy he had raised. 

And when Richie made his way down the isle between the other church goers, to be introduced, his suit messy and far too large for his body, hanging off his shoulder, with pudding stains on the left sleeve. Richie couldn't bring himself to look at the other boy. 

Already 7 years old, and was the church's favorite new member. While Richie was stuck being the potty mouthed trouble child, who everyone made dirty looks at. 

And as Stan shook his hand, he squeezed it hard, causing Richie to flinch. He quickly looked up at the other boy, especting him to be making a rude expression, grossed out and mad.

But instead he just smiled. It was so sweet, and sincere that it sent Richie into a spiral of confusion. He had never received anything even half that kind before. 

It was a silent gesture, telling Richie it was okay. To just relax. That even in a sea of those who judge you. I will not. 

And from then on Richie had been excited to see the boy at church every week. Showing off his collection of hotwheels. And sneaking him some magazines with naked ladies in them. 

Richie had learned to chill out and behave a little better with Stan's influences. And in turn Stan learned how to have fun, and live a little because of Richie. They balanced each other out. 

And as that same, welcoming smile played its tune on Stan's face now. Years later, while Richie was at his most vulnerable. Richie understood. Even in a sea of people who judge you, who hate you. Even if amongst the crowd, you share that hate for yourself. I will not. 

Richie let out, what he believed to be one of the most pathetic cries his body could muster, a wale of pure agony in which he had to suffer alone for so long. And now he had someone. Someone who didn't care. Someone he couldn't push away. 

He no longer had to wallow in his own crushing mind. But now, crushed agasinst the chest of Stan's, he cried, and cried until he couldn't cry any more. And stan just held him.

And that was all he really needed. 

Love

Its understanding, tender, patient. 

The night drag on like a sedated drug. Filled with shaky sobs and hushed words passed back and forth. It was cold, but also so warm, that it filled Richie was a sense of security.

Richie slowly peered over Stan's shoulder to see it was 2am. In a few days, everyone of the losers would meet up at the arcade. 

Richie didn't feel like playing video games anymore. Not right now at least. 

"So" Stan's voice cut through the hum of the heater in the room. "Why were you so scared of telling me?" 

Richie just laid there, still as taken a back as before at how casually Stan was making it all seem.

"I-I just. Ya know?" Richie tried, but Stan just shook his head. 

"It's just. Being—that way. It isn't. Like. Normal? I thought. I don't know. You'd be grossed out. You'd make fun of me like Bowers did. That everyone would. I don't know. Just." His voice became quieter and quieter the more he spoke, not being able to find the words, not knowing how to articulate something he had been trying to repress for so long. 

"You. You believe in god and stuff." 

"You don't?" Stan asked, questioning, but not with any menace. 

"I don't— I don't think I do. I don't think I ever did. But I know you do. And I know it's important to you. And it's just. I know what the church thinks about things like tha-"

"It doesn't matter" Stan cuts him off, heaving a sigh. "It doesn't matter what the church thinks or not." He confirmed, squeezing Richie's shoulder tightly. 

"God Rich. The only thing that matters is what I think of you." 

"Then. What is it?" Richie asked, a slight tinge of fear underlining his words. 

"That you are, crude. And rude, and immature. You smoke too much, and have no fashion sense. You are disgusting, and annoying, and fucking downright dumb sometimes" 

Stan, this time sat up, pulling Richie with him, so he could properly look him in the eyes. 

"And so genuine. Up front and unafraid to be bluntly honest too others. You are companionate, and smart. You are brave, and such a fighter. And probably the funniest person I have ever met. You also happen to be gay. And what I know most certainly. Is that you are still my best friend. And someone I will love. No matter what." 

This time there was no tears. No overly dramatic and weighted cry. Just laughter. 

Richie laughed, it was so bright, and feathery. He felt like millions of pounds were lifted off his shoulders, and he could finally just breathe. His smile was so natural, and uplifting. 

"Who knew you were such a sap Stan the man?" 

He could hear the annoyed groan come from the other boy, as he flopped back down into the mattress, giving up. It just made him laugh harder. 

And as Richie finally settled down, he thought of how it was a miracle he hadn't woken Stan's parents. Which he could tell Stan was thinking too. 

And as if it was a puzzle, Richie slotted back into Stan's arms. 

"Have you told anyone else?" 

"No. I haven't" 

"How did you know?" 

"What that I like boy peepee?" Richie joked, not even fully knowing himself if that was true. He hadn’t allowed himself to really take the time to think about it before. 

"Gross" 

"I thought you weren't judging?" Richie snickered. 

"I'm not, but I don't wanna think about it, in detail. You know I'm not comfortable talking about sexual stuff yet" 

"Yet here you are, snuggled up right against me" 

"Yeah because you are my friend."

"Does it really not bother you?" 

"No. It doesn't" 

"Why?" 

Stan laughed this time around. "Because Richie. I trust you with my life. I'm safer with you then I am without." 

"Wow. Is that a confession of love?"

"You wish" 

"As if, I got someone else on my radar."

"Oh? Who is it" genuine curiosity played on Stan’s words. 

Richie paused, not ready to admit so much, he didn’t want to know the repercussions of admitting something like that.

“I d— I don't" 

"Hey it's okay" Stan spoke over him, knowing exactly when to help Richie out. "One step at a time right?" 

Richie nodded, and Stan smiled against his head. "At least gimme a hint" he teased. 

"Alright. What kinda hint?" 

"Is it someone I know?" 

Richie thought it over. If he answered honestly, then it would very much narrow down the answer, to one of the losers. But something about Stan, gave him to confidence to then say "yes.”

Stanly just hummed, leaving it at that. 

"So. How did you know?" Stan repeated, still interested in the answer. 

Richie huffed, laying his head back into the soft pillow. "Honestly? I don't know. I'm still not sure" 

"Sure? What do you mean sure?"

"Well, like. I'm not one hundred percent positive. I just don't know for sure." 

"Huh." Obviously Stan didn't know how to add to that, so he just moved on. 

"Will you be telling anyone else anytime soon?"

Richie hadn't thought about that. Would he? 

"Maybe Bev?" Stan just nodded his head, making a appreciative sound. "Yeah that makes sense." 

There was a brief pause before Stan added. "How about I invite her over in the morning? Just the three of us, we can talk about everything. Maybe help you figure some things out. I know Bev will also be very helpful with the situation with your parents" he added at the end, knowing that they can't just ignored what had happened. 

Richie would be more then happy to ignore it however. But he knew he needed a place to stay for a while, while everything at home blew over. The losers would make sure he was safe before allowing him to go back home.

At first, Richie wanted to say no, he didn't want to talk about it anymore. He didn't want to have to speak, or tell anyone else. 

But even with these thoughts, the words. "Yeah, you should do that" tumbled out of his mouth. 

He would have to face it, sooner or later. Just like Stan had said. And this time. He was tired of running. 

The feeling of Stan's chest, rising and falling was lulling, like a rhythmic rocking. "Oh and Stan?" Richie whispered.

"Yeah?" He asked back, voice just as low. 

"Thank you" 

And that was the last words spoken for the night. They laid there, pressed up together. Protecting each other from the outside world, as they drifted into slumber. 

_________________

When Richie woke up, Stan wasn't in bed anymore. His eyes lingered to the clock on the bedside table. It was 9am. The sun filling Stan's room with its glow through the window curtains. 

He shuffled slightly, looking around the room, and as he did so, Stan pushed open the door with his foot, holding a plate with freshly toasted eggo waffles, covered in maple syrup. 

He walked over to Richie as he sat up in the bed. He placed the plate in his lap, and handed him a fork. 

He could see the pained expression on Stan's face, having handed such a sugary, disaster to Richie of all people. On his bed. 

But he pushed through it, caring more about the well being of his freind, then his need to keep everything clean. 

Richie made a mental note to be carful as to not dirty Stan's blankets with crumbs or the syrup. Of course though, he would never tell Stan that.

As he bit into the food, realizing how hungry he truly was after dispelling all substance from his body off the side of the road last night. 

He could hear the distinct chatter of Beverly's voice, it was muffled and static. 

He looked up to see Stan with his clunky home phone between his head and his shoulder, he he began folding up the now washed clothes that belonged to Richie. 

Wow he moved fast. 

"Okay. Okay. Yeah. See you soon" 'clink'

After hanging up, Stan moved his attention to Richie, placing his clean clothes onto the corner of the bed. 

"Take your time, no need to rush" he assured. 

"Was that Bev?" Richie spoke, mouth still full of food. 

Stan cringed as he answered. "Yeah, she is coming over right now" 

"Did you tell her?" Richie asked, slightly panicked. 

"No, no I didn't" Stan assured quickly. "No I just told her that there was more issues with your parents. Said it was serious. Because it is. Everything else I left for you to explain" 

Richie felt a wave of relief, not ready to be outed without knowing first. 

"Okay, thank you" 

A smirk spread across Stan's face, as he began, "should I start getting used to you saying that?" 

Richie rolled his eyes, flipping him off. "No, but you should get used to me fucking your mom—"

"I'm sorry, but I can't believe in those empty threats anymore" Stan said amused. 

Richie, faking a scandalized gasp, clutch his hand over his chest, "Stanly. I am wounded" he fanned his face with his hand, slow and feminine, as if he was a house wife finding out the news of her husband’s murder. When she herself, had been the one who had done it all along.

Stan laughed, moving over to run his hands though Richie's hair. "Well, it seems like you no longer have any ammo" 

"On the contrary my dear Stanly. I now have the upper hand" 

"Oh and how is that?" 

"Well, now I can truly assert my dominance by fucking your da—"

Stanly smacked his arm, groaning loudly at his words, but Richie knew he was still laughing, it was silent, but the shake of his chest gave it away. 

After finishing his food, Stanly forced Richie up and into the bathroom, to brush his teeth with a brand new tooth brush out of the many others he kept under the sink. Because of course he did. 

Richie could hear the sound of Stan downstairs, washing the dishes and putting them away, as he spit out the minty suds from his mouth. 

And as they settled back up into Stan’s room, he could see the furrow of his friend’s eyebrows in consideration. 

“Whatcha thinking about over there Stanny boy?” Richie quipped, attempting a terrible NewYorker accent. 

Stan seemed caught off guard at the question, having been lost in thought.

“Oh well, I was just thinking about, you know. How will we be able to make sure you are gay or something?” Stan spoke, the word gay leaving his lips easily, nothing in the way it had been when Richie said it. 

The word still seemed so foreign when it was said not as a insult, but just as a word. One that described Richie. 

“I don’t know why it matters” 

“It matters because it seems to be a reason for so much of your issues. You cried your eyes out last night out of confusion. I can’t in good faith allow you to continue with this question plaguing you.” He seemed serious.

“Are you offering yourself as my text subject?” Richie quirked a brow, a smirk spreading over his lips. 

“Rich, I love you. I really do. But not enough to do that” Stan spoke, making a vague face of disgust. 

And it made Richie happy, not that Stan was grossed out by the thought of doing something like that with Richie, but that it was only disgusting BECAUSE it was with Richie, and not that it was between to males. 

“Idk. Maybe I could compare how I feel about girls to how I feel about guys.” Richie offered. He knew Stan was trying his best to be supportive, so he just played along. But in all honestly, he didn’t really want to make sure. 

“Maybe you should try kissing a girl” Stan said, thinking the words over in his mind as he said it. 

“Yeah and what girl would kiss me?” Richie laughed. 

“I don’t know, maybe we could ask Beverly if she knew any girls who would—“

“Would be desperate enough to kiss a possible Fag? Yeah right.” 

“Hey don’t say that like that” Stan seemed stern, and offended for Richie’s sake. Richie found that amusing. 

“It’s just to see if you feel anything. Like a experiment.” 

“Well, as much as I’d love to fight you on that. It does seem like a good idea.”

At least it did to their 13 year old logic. But then again, putting a ball of tinfoil into a microwave also seemed like a good idea a year ago. Spoiler, it wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m starting to get the flow of writing these. So I hope y’all enjoy!


	3. Experimentation

Out of all the things Richie could be doing right now, he did not think it would be reading lines out of a bird watching book. Each paragraph becoming more progressively boring as Stan jot down some notes beside him about the species, what they eat, and the different bird calls they made. 

What made it all worth it though, was when the bird calls were discribed in the book, Richie took it upon himself to imitate those sounds to as closely as they were discribed. 

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEeeEE!!" 

"Alright! That's enough. No more of that" Stan announced abruptly taking the book away from Richie, only after his fourth time making horridly deafining screeches and screams. Richie could have gone a few more rounds gladly. 

He laughed there on the bed for a moment, before they heard the sound of the front door opening up from downstairs. 

The destintively familiar sound of Beverly's boots stepping onto the hard wood floor.

"Hey Beverl—" Stan began to announce, setting down his things. But then the sound of multiple other sneakers entered behind her's, cutting him short, each new set of footsteps causing more shock to announce its presence on his features.

Richie's heart sinks. "I thought you said it was only Bev?" He whispered, and Stan nods, confused. "Yeah. It was" 

Stan gets up from the bed, and Richie begins to follow, but is held back by Stan's hand, as he shakes his head. "No don't worry I'll take care of it" 

And as Richie watched his freind walk out the room, he can hear the conversation downstairs. 

"Hi everyone!" Stan announces, and Richie can hear the collective voices of his friends reply in a chippy singsong kind of way. Mike, Bill, Ben and Eddie. 

Eddie. 

Richie heart feels like it will fall out of his chest, splat onto the floor of Stan's room, and be trampled by a on-slot of dastardly boys, wearing fanny packs and tiny gym shorts.

"Um Beverly" Stan begins, "can I talk to you in private for a moment?" 

She must have agreed, because then he could hear the thud of her boots coming upthe stairs, as the others made confused sounds. 

Just outside the door, Stan and Beverly speak in hushed tones. "You were supposed to come by yourself?" 

"Oh what? Oh god Stan I'm so sorry. I thought you said Richie was going through something?"

"Yeah he is. But he only really has enough energy to talk to you about it. It's a few more things" stan, dripping his voice a little "it's not just his parents. It's. It's something personal. And he isn't ready to share it with everyone else" 

"Oh. Okay well yeah. I totally understand, I'm sorry—"

"No no it's okay. It's just. I don't know how to explain to them, ya know?" 

"I can try?"

"No it's okay. Richie needs you. You go to him, he's in there. I'll entertain everyone else, try and explain." 

They didn't say anything else passed that, either just wordlessly agreeing with each other, or saying it so quietly that even Richie couldn't hear. 

Then Beverly was walking into the room, taking off her boots at the entrance, knowing to respect Stan's rules. 

Richie hadn't realized it, but listening to the sound of his friends, re-realizing why they were there, and what had happened the night before. What all of this meant. It weighed on him. 

And he was already at the brink of tears.

Looking at the red curles on top of Beverly's head, set something off in him. He never cried, ever in front of anyone, accept for Beverly.

And seeing her, brought back those feelings of saftey she always brought. Those long nights under the bleachers, those soft words shared between each other, and the unspoken promise to always be there for one another. 

She was speechless the moment her eyes landed on him. She asked no questions, said no words, she just gave him a all knowing smile, and walked over to engulf him in a hug, shushing him immediately while petting his head. 

"Hey you ol' lug bug, you'll be okay hun. You'll be okay. Just let it out" her words sounded like candy, and escaped her lips like fairy dust. It was so gentle it felt like Richie could be swept away, fluttering in the wind and allowing the elements to take him wherever. This time they have decided to drop him off in Beverlys arms.

Pressing his face into her stomach, he was filled with the intoxicating smell of her perfume and cigarettes. God he needed a cigarette right now. 

He sat with his legs over the edge of the bed, head pressed into Beverly like a teddy bear, as she took off his glasses, and held them. 

God she was just so perfect to him. 

"You know what will make you feel better Richy?" She asked, playful charm always coaxing from her lips. 

"What?" Richie asked, muffled from the press of his face into Bev. 

"Maybe I can spend the night tonight with you and Stan. And, we can watch reruns of Alien" 

Richie sniffled, his breath still shaky, but already getting better. "Yeah that sounds good" 

"Good" Beverly said cheerful, somehow Richie could tell she was smiling, just from the sound of her voice alone. 

He pulled away, and she wiped his eyes with her sleeve, leaning down to kiss his nose, and to give his head one last hug, before pulling away, and sitting next to him. 

"So. Tell me what happe—"

"What do you mean he doesn't want to talk to us??" There was a loud, very upset sounding voice yelling from the other side of the door. 

Quickly, Beverly got up from the bed, as if on cue, to go open the door, only getting half way there when the door slammed open. 

Richie's heart skips a beat, his body filling with panic, and suffocating him. 

Eddie stands on the other side of the doorway, that annoyed, and upset look painting his features. 

Quickly Eddie's eyes land on him in Stan's bed,  
Richie's eyes red and puffy from crying, his hair messy from sleep, wearing nothing but his underwear and Stan's t-shirt. 

"Wh-What are you wearing?" Eddie asks first of all things, eyes scanning Richie up and down, confusion plaguing his expression. 

"What?" Richie asked confused. That has been the last thing he expected to come from him. 

Eddie moves into the room, much against Beverly and Stan's words from behind him. 

"That's not your shirt." Eddie says matter-of-factly. 

"Yeah? And? What's the point?" 

"The point is. That. Why are you at Stanley's house? In his clothes, in his bed, and not wanting to talk to anyone else?" 

Richie can't even think of something to say, because of the amalgamation of such confusing questions stacked on top of one another. 

"I-?" 

Eddie sighed, his pissy, annoying attitude irking Richie like it always did. He would be ready to fight Eddie if he weren't so damn tired. 

"So why do you only want to talk to Beverly. What about me—?" Eddie began stumbling over his words in the cute way that he does, "you know. Like, everyone. What about everyone else?" 

Richie sighed, pressing his face into his hand and rubbing his temples. 

"Eds. It's just. It's certain things I don't want to share-"

"Is it your parents again? You've come to me about your parents before. Why is it different now" he hurried out, approaching the bed, fists clutched tight by his sides. 

"Eddie. It's- UGH, you are so fucking annoying sometimes. It's not just about my parents."

"Then what is it?" He pressed on, voice not wavering in intensity.

"It's none of your business" 

Eddie laughed at that, it was bitter and mixed with disbelief.

"If it's about your well being then it is my—our business. What is so important that you can only tell Beverly and Stan and not me?"

"Maybe it's because you are the most annoying mother fucker I know?" Richie seethes, already getting a headache from it all.

"Oh I'm sorry? I'm annoying because I care about you?" 

"Eddie please. Don't push this any farther. It's just something, that im.." Richie tried to search for words, as he made eye contact with Eddie, watching his eyes peer at Richie, equal parts mad, and worried. 

His eyes had pretty light blue specks in it, Richie just noticed. 

"You're what?" Eddie asked, softer this time, but still stern.

"I'm just. Not comfortable telling you guys yet" 

Eddie seemed hurt. Truly hurt, as his eyes slowly began watering. 

"Why?" He breathed out, voice weak. "Why Stan? Why Beverly, and not me? What's so special about your relationship with them, aren't I your best-" 

Eddie sobbed slightly, and Richie was shocked. He didn't think this would hurt his feelings so badly, he quickly stood up from the bed, moving over to Eddie to grab his arm, holding it in his hand. 

"Did I—?.." he began, moving his gaze to meet Richie's. Richie just admired the shape of his jaw, and how his bright pink swollen bottom lip would quiver as he spoke. His eyebrows scrunching together, as his eyes lingered on Richie's. 

"Did I do something wrong? Is there a reason you trust them more then me..?"

Richie wanted to kiss the frown right off his face, unable to deny that fact anymore. Unable to deny the way Eddie made his heart flutter and crumble into peices with each soft broken word from his lips. Richie was recked, destroyed from the inside out, just seeing the upset expression on Eddie's face. He so desperately wanted to make it go away. 

"No" he whispered, moving his hand up to cup the side of Eddie's face, now red. "I trust you more then anyone" he told the truth.

"Then why?" 

Because I don't want you to run away. 

Because I don't want you of all people to hate me. 

Because I don't want you to know that I love you. 

Woah. 

Richie needs to slow the Fuck down.

"I can't tell you" Richie whispered, and Eddie pulls away from him, seemingly devastated. 

Just for a flicker of a moment, there was som shuffling on the other side of the room. Quickly Richie looked towards Stan by the doorway, as he was watching them interact from a far. 

"I'm sorry" Richie choked out, voice pleading and in pain. And as Eddie's face whipped around to stare at Richie shocked. He realized he sounded vulnerable. 

"I'm so fucking sorry Eds. I just can't. I fucking can't. I know it doesn't make sense but- but, I'm sorry" 

Richie couldn't even complete his sentence before Eddie moved over to hug him, wrapping his arms tightly around Richie's torso, pulling him in so close it felt like he was being squished into millions of wonderful little Eddie marshmallows. 

His smell was so fucking addictive, Richie could just drink him in and die happy. His nails dug into Eddie's shoulders, holding onto him for dear life, like if he let go at any moment Eddie would disappear. 

He just wanted to surround himself with Eddie, let him consume his senses, his everything. He was already flooding his mind every day. He might as well take over the rest. 

"It's okay" Eddie whispered, in that sincere, sweet way that he does when he wants to make sure you are alright. 

Richie's eyes moved over to look at Stan again, noticing a look in his eyes, like Stan had just been let in on a secret he wasn't supposed to know yet. He figured it out. 

Richie didn't care. 

All he cared about was Eddie in his arms at the moment. The feeling of his stupid little fanny pack pressing into his hip, as he just pulled Eddie closer, impossibly closer. Richie can't help but notice how small Eddie was compared to him, and how much shorter he was. 'CUTE CUTE CUTE' played through his mind. And as they held onto each other, There was no words that needed to be said between the two. 

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

One of Richie's favorite memories of Eddie was, well. Every memory. But he was most fond of the one time Richie had tried to learn how to ride a skate board. He was trying to impress Eddie, but the entire time he was just yelling at him, telling him about how he might get hurt. 

"If you hurt yourself Toizer I ain't doing shit to help you!" He was so angry and annoyed, but he never took his eyes off Richie, too worried and focused on him to look at anything else. 

And that was what Richie wanted. So he just kept riding, kept trying more and more stupid tricks until he actually did end up hurting himself, speeding over a rock and tripping, landing hands first into the concrete.

"Fuck!" It stung, and hurt like hell. The feeling of the road burn on his plams wasn't even the worse, but that it had scraped his skin, causing him to bleed. 

He sat on the side of the road looking down at his hands, sucking in pained breaths, trying to figure out what to do, as the skate board rolled away. 

Richie looked up and was surprised to see Eddie rushing over to him, already pulling out disinfectants and bandages from his fanny pack.

"You fucking idiot" Eddie shot at him as he took his hands into his own. Richie's heart skipped a beat, feeling Eddie's hands on his. 

And for the entirety of the time whIle Eddie cleaned his wounds, Richie couldn't take his eyes off him. Falling off that skate board had so been worth it. 

Love. 

Compassionate, understanding, concerned. 

Eddie. 

Love is Eddie. 

And Eddie is good.

Sadly though, all things must come to a end, and Eddie has to pull away, to leave with everyone else.

There's a tinge in his chest, and he wants to just give up on the idea as a whole and let Eddie stay. But the knowing look that comes from Stan tells him that he will have all the time in the world to hang out with Eddie.

What he needs to do now is finish what he started. 

"I'll explain everything to you later" Richie whispered under his breath, squeezing Eddie's arm one last time before pulling away. 

The absence of Eddie's body makes him feel like half of a whole. And the twitch of Eddie's brow, shows some level of disappointment as well.

It didn't take too long for Stan to usher everyone out of the house, while Richie settles back into the bed with Beverly. 

Soon Stan joins them, and squishes himself into their cuddle pile. 

"Well. Before I was so rudely Inturupted" Beverly clears her throat.

"Richie, baby doll. Tell me what happened" her tone is suddenly serious, yet so calm and sweet he can't do anything other then answer honestly. 

And honesty has never been something Richie usually struggled with around her. 

As he relayed the events of the night before, even Stan is shocked, he didn't know the full details of what happened. 

It was hard explaining it all, it was like reopening a fresh wound, reliving the trama all over again willingly. It put a sour taste in his mouth.

Stan and Beverly remain quiet all the way to the end of the story, and finally they both let out a breath they had been holding.

"Jesus Christ Rich, that's fucking horrible" Beverly let's out tenderly, Stan agreeing behind her. 

She cups Richie's face, gently running her thumb over his cheek. It was comforting. Like receiving a motherly touch he has never experienced before. 

But Richie knew he wasn't done. No matter how spent his body already felt from getting that out. He brought Beverly over for a specific reason, and he wasn't going to chicken out.

He had to do it now, or he will end up never doing it. 

"Oh, and another thing" Richie's voice breaks the silence. It was shaky, and panicked the way it hadn't been during the story.

Beverly looks at him exspectantly, and when he says nothing, she quickly speaks up. "Go ahead, you can tell me anything" 

Richie's hands are sweating, and his heartbeat is running a mile a minute, but he just shuts his eyes, and balls his fists into the blanket beneath him. 

"I'm gay" it's still not any easier then before, but he doesn't have time to panic when Beverly makes a cute little laugh beside him. 

He cracks a eye open to look at her. "Well okay. And? What's the big thing you need to tell me?" She's smiling, her eyes lingering over him with such adoration, and admiration. Nothing has changed. The universe is still intact. The world hadn't exploded. And she still looked at him the same way, she always did. Except this time her smile is wider. It's breathtaking. 

"That— that was the big thing" he stumbled out, not able to find his words, and Beverly laughs again, bubbly and light. 

"Well, then, I'm very happy you have decided to share this with me" she spoke, her voice so brutally honest. He melts a little. 

"You don't hate me?" 

"Hate you?" She looks bewildered and Stan snickers behind her as well. 

"Get a load of this guy! That's the funniest joke he's ever made, and he wasn't even joking!" She yells out, and Stan laughs with her. 

"Ow! Bev taking a shot at my jokes? I'd like to think I'm funny." 

"Yeah, emphases on think" 

"Wowza! I'm wounded!" 

They laugh, and Richie feels a sense of happiness fall over him. Everything was going so fucking well, he couldn't believe it. 

However a slight bump in his settling relaxation appears itself as Stan mentions to Beverly. "Richie, wants to make sure though" 

And suddenly Bev is looking to Stan, taking in the things he is saying. She offers a nod, listening with intentive ears.

"We wanted to do a experimentation, one where he would kiss a girl and really make sure if he was gay or not, he wants to be sure. It's been a big issue for him for so long" 

Beverly smiles again, "yeah, no it's okay. I understand" she looks to Richie, patting his knee. He feels relief fall over him.

"So we were wondering if you knew any girls? You know that might be okay with it" 

She laughs, hugging her sides. "You guys should know better" she begins, laying her head back on Stan, and stretching her legs over Richie. "I don't have other friends outside of you guys."

Well that would have been obvious if they had just taken a moment to think about it. Both boys slap a hand on their foreheads, groaning in realization.

It just made Bev laugh even harder. 

So they give up on that plan. Moving on to others. "Maybe try kissing a boy. That makes more sense." Beverly offers. But none of the ideas really lead anywhere. And instead they all just opt with spending some time together.  
________________

It didn’t take long for Beverly to decided to spend the night with them, leaving briefly to get clothes, and some of her things. 

Richie had mentioned to Stan that the other losers could come over too if they are allowed to sleep over on a weekday. So Stan quickly leaves with his parents to get some food for everyone, and to pick up who ever is available.

For a while, it's just Richie, alone in the Uris house. His parents hadn't called. They hadn't called any of his friend's houses. They didn't care. They didn't care where he was, if he was safe, if he was alive or not. He tried not to let that get to him.

But it did.

It’s Beverly who gets back first, he can hear her soft singing fill the empty house when she gets through the front door. 

'My baby he don't talk sweet  
He ain't got much to say  
But he loves me, loves me, loves me  
I know that he loves me anyway'

She walks up the steps and Richie pokes fun at her selection of song. 

"Wow really embracing the gay aren't you Bevy?" He says, as she walks through the bedroom door, putting down her backpack. 

"Well I have to support you somehow don't I?" 

They snicker as she pulls him off the bed, onto his feet and against her body. She places two hands on his shoulders, swaying back and forth, and he settles two hands on her waist, soon following her movements. It was like prom, but not as stupid and awkward. 

The air in the room was light and playful. The way it could only ever be when they were together. 

'And maybe he don't dress fine  
But I don't really mind  
Because every time he pulls me near  
I just want to cheer'

He swings her around the room, moving their feet to the song as she sung. And slowly, Richie began belting out the lyrics with her. 

'Let's hear it for the boys  
Let's give the boys a hand  
Let's hear it for my baby  
You know you go to understand  
Whoa, maybe he's no Romeo  
But he's my lovin' one-man show  
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa  
Let's hear it for the boys'

She rests her head on his shoulder, and they giggle with each slowing step. Richie can feel the grin fixed onto his lips, as he rests his chin on top of her head. 

"Thank you" he whispers, and she just simply smiles against his shoulder. She didn't need to say anything. They both just knew. 

And slowly he melted, pressing into her and letting tears fall from his eyes like raindrops cascading down on open flames. 

"I wish I wasn't this way still" he breathes out, and he can feel her stiffen slightly before relaxing into him again. 

"I wish I could just fix it. Even with the support from you and Stan I still—" he chokes out, and she buries her face into his chest. "I still can't get over this hate I feel for myself. I've been dealing with it for so long, I thought if I told someone it would go away. But. It didn't. It's still here. And I'm still dirty" 

"Don't say that" she shushes him like a mother lovingly chastising her child at a grocery store for being too loud. "You aren't dirty." She reassures, carding a hand through his hair. 

"And" Richie continues. "I'm not even sure. That's the worse part" 

"Then let's try it out" she offers, not even taking a moment to think it out, or hesitate, pulling away slightly so they can look at each other. 

He stills, looking at her confused. "What do you mean?" 

She resembles the embodiment of joy when she laughs. It always puts him in a trance, leaves him jealous of such pure radiant bliss. Even with the things she dealt with every day, she could still find it in her heart to bust a gut. 

"You are my best friend Rich" she reminds him, cupping his cheek, there is a crinkle in her nose. He smiles. 

"Let's just try it out" she repeats, and he suddenly understands. "And then you tell me, how you feel after?" 

He can't bring himself to argue with her, and wordlessly nods his head. 

Slowly, they move together, it's slightly awkward, but still comfortable. But that's because it was them. They were always comfortable with each other. 

They kiss, and it's gentle, a soft touch of the lips that lingers for a little. Richie takes note that she tastes slightly of cherry chapstick and cigarettes. He could imagine he tasted the same, except with Stan's toothpaste rather then chapstick. 

They pull away with a soft 'mwuah' and they look into each other's eyes. It was silent, like they were trying to figure out where to go from that. 

Then they are laughing. Laughing so hard, they keel over, Beverley falling onto the bed kicking her feet up, and Richie following next to her, falling on his face into the sheets. 

"That was my first kiss" Richie whispered after a few moments passed, once they had settled down from their giggling. 

"Well. How was it?" She asked, resting a arm over her eyes. 

"Well. No offense to you at all Bev's" he began. She held back a laugh, "none taken" 

"But, it wasn't very exciting" he grinned into the blanket beneath him "it kinda felt like making out with a old grandma." 

She swat his arm, but he knew she didn't care, that playful smile still resting on her face. 

"Well then. Do you think that helps you answer your question?" 

"It definitely helps" he groans. Deep down a part of him wished that he would have ended up straight. But then again when had he ever gotten what he wanted? 

"Being that way. Isn't bad Richie. It's just different" 

"Different is bad Bev" 

"It can't possibly be" she whispers, pushing a strain of hair behind his ear. "Because you are still the same, dumb, sweet boy I have always known you as. You can't possibly be bad" 

And for a moment. He believes her.

Slowly he turns. To look at her, and hold out his pinky, wordlessly she wraps hers around his. "Let's keep this a secret between us" 

"A kissing pact? Well I'll have to admit Rich, this is a lot less bloody then the last pact we made" 

He rolled his eyes chuckling slightly. 

They grin at each other as she nods her head. "Promise" 

"Promise" 

___________________

"Haystack! Big Bill! Welcome to Cása de Stan"

"Richard, don't act like you own my house" Stan mutters as they other two boys enter, sleeping bags and extra clothes bunched up in their arms. 

"Woah, full name drop, well alright Stanley. I was just trying to be a welcoming host" 

"And what are you hosting? A idiot parade?" 

"Wowza! No, no I was more of thinking a 'I'm a depressed bitch' parade. But I'll take in consideration the name change, if you can offer me a good float that could lead the idiot parade" 

"Har-de-har" 

As quickly as they came, they all 5 settled into the living room, as promised, Alien playing on the screen as Stan made popcorn in the kitchen. 

"So Mike couldn't make it?" Richie asked, Ben shook his head in response, laying back into the couch. "No he has too many things to do at the farm in the morning. But he will be able to make it during the weekend for our losers meet up" 

Richie didn't like being reminded they had to do that after tomorrow. He still didn't feel like going. 

"W-w-well Richie. How have you b-been doing?" Bill offers from beside him on the floor in front of the couch, and Richie turns to him expectantly. "Honestly?" Richie begins.

"Not so good" 

Bill frowns, and Richie hates seeing that. He wraps a protective arm around Richie, and he is able to relax a little. 

"So what about Eddie?" Beverly quips, settling down to the floor on the other side of Richie. Getting back from where her bag was upstairs. In her hand, bright yellow nail polish, she hits the bottom of the bottle against her palm. Richie thinks it's probably to stir up what ever the paint is made of. 

"He couldn't make it. You know how his mom is. It's Thursday night. No way in hell she would let him sleep over" Ben reply’s, sad.

Richie’s heart hurt a little, even just hearing Eddie being mentioned could send him into a frenzy. 

As the night stretched on, Richie found himself able to explain the situation with his parents to the other two, Beverley and Stan helping to say the things he didn't want to say, and filling in the rest of the story to them. 

Stan settles into the couch with Ben, and Bill joins them, as Beverly finishes up painting Richie's nails. 

He looks down at them, as she blows air onto still wet polish. 

He had only agreed to doing this because she so desperately wanted to match, she already having the yellow on her nails. It looked nice on her. 

He was worried at first that it might be too gay. But she had assured him that there was no such thing. It was such a big jump. He felt like everything was moving so quickly with the new identity he had taken upon himself. Should he act different? Do things differently? Treat people differently?

However Beverley was always there to remind him. “You were always gay. No need to act any different, just be yourself. Because that’s who you are” 

So he was okay with it. Richie stuck in the closet would still be okay with getting his nails painted, so— out of the closet Richie is too. 

Even Bill allowed her to paint his nails. Then again, he would allow her to basically do anything. Richie could see the sad expression on Ben's face as he watched the two interact. 

Richie remembered asking Beverley about her relationship with Bill before. 

"So is it serious?" He asked, taking a deep drag of the cigarette between his fingers. 

"I don't really know. We've only kissed a few times. We hold hands sometimes too, but I do that with everyone." 

"So are you boyfriend and girlfriend?" He offers her the cigarette, she gratefully takes it. 

"We never really talked about it. Never made it official or anything." 

"Huh" 

"Huh indeed" she agrees, passing the cig back to him. 

And as Richie watched the way they laughed, and talked to each other. He didn't notice their relationship with each other being any different then it was with the rest of the losers. 

But that was a conversation for another day.  
___________________

"Hey- Bev" Richie softly nudged her, poking at her side as she slowly stirred awake. 

"Wha?" She asks, sleep apparent in her voice. 

She looked around, the sun had barely just risen. She was squished in between Bill and Ben, her head resting on Ben's stomach, as he laid down on the couch, and Bill's head in her lap. 

Stan was now on the floor, using Bill's sleeping bag as a pillow. None of them had made it upstairs to sleep, all of them too tired to move. 

Richie had slept cuddling Stan like the night before. But he couldn't stay asleep. He was still so stressed. "Can I bum a cig off you?" He whispered, not wanting to wake the others.

"Oh. Yeah sure. Their is a pack in my bag upstairs" she motions, not able to get up because she would wake to two other boys. 

Richie nodded, and kissed the top of her head as a thank you. She smiled up at him and returned the kiss.

They have been much more kissy with each other since yesterday. Usually the cheek and the forehead. When they had kissed eachother, the day before, nothing between them became awkward, or changed really. It just opened them up to a new way of showing each other affection. 

And it also just kinda became a inside joke between the two. 

No one seemed to bat a eye at it either. At first Bill and Ben seemed shocked by it, and Stan’s reaction was the best. You could see the strain on his brain as he tried to figure out what was happening. 

But then they all just realized it was just Richie and Beverley being Richie and Beverley. 

And as she settled back into slumber. Richie slowly exited out of the front door, cigarette in hand. He knew better then to smoke in front of Stan's house, learning from experience. So he opted to take a quick trip to the kissing bridge, just to smoke in peace.

But also partly because he wanted to just be alone for a second. For the first time ever he really wanted to think. About everything. About himself. 

It still freaked him the fuck out of him. But he was willing to face that fear.

And as he parked his bike on the side of the bridge. His eyes landed on his carving the day before. 

But this time he didn't shy away. He wasn't as scared anymore, to face it. To face the truth. 

He felt around his pockets, to find his lighter, cigarette between his lips, instead he found his pocket knife. 

It felt like time was never ending, yet moving so quickly he couldn't keep up. 

For a moment, he hesitated. And then all at once, he gave in. 

He finished the carving, the sun lifting up beautifully into the sky, As he pushed up his glasses, to the top of his nose.

He felt a sense of pride in finally being able to muster up the courage and just do it. 

Soon he was on his bike again, ready to get back to his friends, he was never much of a morning person and was more then happy to get back to sleep like everyone else. 

He departed the bridge, leaving it behind, but not forgotten. The forever carved ( R + E ) brandishing it, like seal of hopes to be fulfilled.

Like a badge chosen for it. To have the choice of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the comments! They mean a lot! :D


	4. The Lake

"Bill? Really?" Beverley laughs soft, pressing her head into the crook of Richie's neck. 

There was just one day until they all had to meet up at the arcade. Richie still didn't have the heart to tell them he didn't want to go. He didn't want to do anything but wallow in his own self loathing.

"Hey, don't make fun of me. You like him too" he shoots back, but it's in a teasing tone, as he rests his head on top of hers.

The other two boys are downstairs still sleeping. Beverley, Stan and Richie snuck off to Stan's room to talk some more. 

"Do you still like him?" Stan asks, resting his chin on his hand, as he sits on his desk, sorting through some of his things. 

"No I don't think so." 

"But I thought you said—" Stan began, but Richie cuts him short. 

"No it's someone else" he confirms, knowing it is just a matter of time before he figures out who it is. Stan makes a humming noise, like he isn't surprised. "Well alright then" 

Beverley smiles. "So, what about him made you crush on him?" She asks, and Richie can't help but blush. He didn't think she of all people would want to probe into information like that. Due to the person of the subject matter. But she doesn't even have the smallest bit of jealously on her pretty features.

"Honestly? When I first met him" he rubbed his face with his hand, wiping his eyes, while holding his glasses in the other.

"All he did was smile. He was so endearing, so sweet. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world, and the only person who mattered. Like he would give me or do anything for me. It filled me with this fuzzy bubbly feeling in my gut. And I couldn't ever take my eyes off him" instantly, they both nod like they understood the feeling. 

The conversation with them is, slow, trying to make it not so overwhelming. They let him talk at his own pace, about how he feels, and to allow him to work out what that means about him. 

Finally after about a hour, he comes to the conclusion to tell everyone in the Losers Club. 

No matter how much it scared him. No matter how much it made him feel like someone was reaching into his chest and squeezing his heart. 

He knew they would accept him. Or at least he was pretty sure. 

Stan and Beverley promised, they would stick with him through thick and thin. And it made him feel better knowing he had a safety blanket. 

What he wasn't ready for, however was the fact that, they wanted him to do it today, while he was still determined. Or else he might pussy out in the end. He knew they were right. He knew they were just looking out for his best interest. But it was still overwhelming. 

They three get downstairs to wake the others, while Stan calls Mike's and Eddie's houses to get them to come over for the day. 

Richie feels like he might have a panic attack if he has to come out to Eddie too, but he doesn't tell anyone. That would give too much away. If he couldn't hide the fact he was gay, he could at least attempt to hide who he was gay for. 

Beverley had decided the spot for them to go, over by the cliff edge on the lake. They could jump down and play in the water like they always did. They would be safe, away from everyone, just amongst each other, the only people that mattered. And then go to the club house afterwards for privacy. 

She was great with time management as always, and no one ever questioned her plans, because they always ended up working perfectly. 

Mike had already answered yes, while everyone started packing some swim trunks, Richie borrowing a pair for Stan. 

They were slightly tight around his thighs, but the waist at least fit, so Richie shoved them on, while everyone did the same with their own suits. 

Over the phone however, everyone could hear the destintive sound of Eddie's mother, obviously more then annoyed. 

No one could hear what she was saying exactly, yet from the sound of her tone, to the cringe on his face said it all. "But—" he began, but she would just yell even louder, causing him to wince. 

Stan had pressed a few extra times, even so, ultimately the verdict was no. He didn't want to push any farther lest Eddie not be able to go out with them tomorrow. 

A part of Richie felt disappointed, but also slightly relieved all the same. 

So as they all, with a slight sadness weighing over them, finished packing towels and clean clothes, made their way to the lake, they made sure to not let the absences of Eddie detour then from a good time.  
______________________

It was bright out. It really was. And if it were not for Stan being the only person who was actually responsible, Richie would have gotten a gnarly sun burn, covering his pale shoulders and back. 

The sky in Derry was always so depressing. But today was a pleasant exception, with the sky bright blue splattered with random assortments of clouds here and there. It was fucking great. 

That is, it would be if Richie wasn't stuck standing awkwardly off the shore of the lake edge, while 5 of his friends stood in the water, all of their eyes focused on him as he tried and failed, to speak. 

What made it worse, however, was what finally came out of his stupid mouth. 

"errr eh— I don't fuck moms—?" He said it more like a question rather then a revelation, and everyone stared at him, making him feel more self-conscious then he had ever felt before. Well, that and the fact that Stanley was over by the side of the group now currently laughing so hard he had to swim out of the water as to not drown. 

Richie really wished he'd drown right now. 

"What?" Mike asks amused, as Beverly falls back off his shoulders with a big splash. 

Bill has Ben in a arm lock, as he looks at Richie with a amused grin. "Are you g-gonna say you upgraded to g-gr-grandmas or some dumb sh-shit like that?" 

They look at him expectantly, ready for a corny joke or some stupid explanation. 

Richie rubbed the back of his neck, a forced grin on his face. "No but if you want me to tell you how I took your grandmothers virginit—"

"BEEP BEEP Richie" Stan calls out, finally coming out of the water, to grab a towel and dry his hair. 

"That doesn't even make sense, how would you even be able to do that?" Ben questions, soon after Bill dunks his head into the water laughing. 

Beverley is swimming towards Richie, giving him patient eyes, ones that tell him it's alright, just keep going. Her curly hair now flat against a the sides of her head, dripping wet. 

"Pleaaaase" Mike begins, moving to shove bill into the water after he dunked Ben. "We all know Richie doesn't have enough game to be able to get some grandma action" 

Stan snorts, and Richie can't help but crack a slight smile. 

"Well no. I'm not trying to get grandmas or moms, I'm trying to—" he paused for a moment, clearing his throat. Suddenly the eyes resting on him felt like needles, jamming themselves into his body, nailing him down into the ground. He makes a loud, almost screechy guttural whine, before rambling out "get dads" 

For a moment there was pause.

Then Mike and Stan both spit out laughter, as Beverly sighs in her hand, shaking her head with disappointment. 

Bill just looks amused, and Ben after a moment of confusion begins to laugh with everyone else, thinking he caught on to the joke. There wasn't really a joke.

Accept maybe Richie. 

That was not the right way of doing it. 

"Funny one Tozier." Ben says, trying to be supportive. But Richie wasn't trying to be funny for once in his life. 

Slowly, they soon realized he wasn't laughing with them, just standing there, in semi-wet shorts that were now getting cold. His hair a mess and his cheeks bright red from embarrassment. 

They quiet down, eyes resting on him again. 

He feels like he is gonna vomit. 

He does. 

Quickly he is moving over to the side, spilling out his stomach acid, heaving hard. His sides burn and he can feel tears well up in his tear ducts.

Instantly he could hear movement in the water as everyone quickly gets out to try and aid him. 

"Woah, d-d-dude are you okay?" Bill gets out hurried, moving to rest his hand on the small of Richie's back while Beverley pats his shoulders, coo'ing him to calm down. 

It's fucking humiliating, listening to all of their worried voices. Becoming physically sick because of something so fucking stupid. 

God just get it over with. 

"I'm gay!" he almost yells at the top of his lungs, eyes shut tight, vomit still on the side of his chin.

His fists are clench, and he rubs his forearm over his mouth. 

"I'm a fucking fairy! A flamer. A damn faggot! Bowers was right. He was fucking right. And god I'm such—" a heart wrenching sob rips through his chest, causing his body to shake violently. "I'm such a mess" 

He hadn't even open his eyes yet, he just knew. He could feel the shocked eyes on him, making him small. Like the judgment of the world is now soaring down from the sky, and crashing into his body like a meteor. He would become ashes, and he would be okay with that. 

As his hyperventilating slowly settled down into breathing he was able to muster up the courage to crack open his eyes. 

He looked around, and it felt like the planet was just the same. Still at peace, unharmed by any flying debree from space. 

They all just looked at him, a mix of sadness, and confusion in their eyes. But the smiles on their lips told him what he needed to know. They still loved him. 

God they still fucking loved him and that's all that mattered. 

And as they all quickly move to wrap him in their arms he knew, that the world could end today, and it would still be complete. Because at least he would have them. 

They all pulled away, and he wiped his eyes.

Each of them took a moment to speak to him.

"Rich. That doesn't matter you know that right?" Mike said, his voice filled with such honest sincerity. "I don't hate you or judge you because of it. And I sure as hell won't treat you any different" he moved over, lifting up Richie by his hips and throwing him over his strong shoulder. He yelped at the initial movement, but was laughing the rest of the time spend on Mike's shoulders. 

"I know what it's like to be treated different because of something you can't control" Mike spoke, putting Richie down gently. "To be hated for it, and tormented. And I'd never do it to you" he assured. 

"Mikey—" Richie began and Mike just shook his head, "no Rich. You don't need to apologize. You weren't the person who did those things." And Richie hugged him, tight, feeling a shaky breath leave his body. 

Bill just looked towards them with such tenderness Richie felt like he might get swept off his feet any moment now. "R-r-Richie. How long have you been h-h-hiding this from us?" He said, moving to cup Richie's cheeks between his hands. Richie had no choice but to look into his eyes. 

"Well. I told Stan and Beverly first" he mumbled, and everyone turned to look at the two of them, standing behind Richie. They simply smiled and shrugged. 

"Well that's o-o-okay" Bill reassured, taking a heavy load off of Richie's worries. He hugged Richie tight. "Jesus trashmouth, you k-know no matter what I'll fu-fu-f-fucking love you right?" 

Richie felt himself genuinely smile. "Well I sure as hell know now." 

"Oh no. Does that mean everyone but Eddie knows now?" Ben spoke up, walking up to Bill and Richie, moving Bill out of the way gently, but with enough force Richie laughed slightly at the absurdity of Ben pushing anyone, just to hug Richie. His friend. A friend that he now knew was gay. 

But it didn't stop him from squeezing Richie so tight he felt like he might pop like a balloon. 

Oo. Red balloons. Kinda a trigger. 

Don't think about that right now. Get that imagine out of your head. Wholesome moment. Not 'relive your past tramas' moment.

Richie was instantly wrapped in warmth. Ben was like a big ol' walking pillow. Ready to just dish out more love then anyone was capable of giving back. 

Richie did try his best though, hugging back, tight. Though he felt like a twig compared to Ben. 

"I'm so glad you told me" Ben said, the most stunning smile on his face. "I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you. You are so brave Rich" 

Richie's eyes widen in shock. He hadn't thought of it like that. He was so hard on himself, feeling pathetic for not being able to get it out. He forgot how much courage he needed to use, just to do it in the first place.

"Thank you" he spoke earnestly, while Ben gave him one last squeeze. Jeez he could probably arm wrestle a bear and give it a fair fight. 

"Well I'm sure Richie can tell Eddie tomorrow right?" Stan suggested, moving in the join the hug, Beverly close behind. "Yeah. Eddie is your best friend" she spoke, her voice was so lovely. "He won't react any different." 

Richie didn't want to think about that. He just awkwardly chuckled and nodded his head, as everyone moved in to crush him in a group hug. 

It felt nice. It felt safe. But the looming fear of what will happen tomorrow was eating at him. 

So he just let it happen, pushing back any uncomfortable thoughts to the back of his mind, those were for later. And now. He must live in the moment.  
_________________

The moment was over, and no matter how long Richie tried to stretch out the day, there was only so much daylight. 

One by one each loser left the club house, needing to get home. And as Stan slowly waved goodbye, it left Richie being stuck as the third wheel to Beverley and Bill. 

Usually he wouldn't complain, but something about the way they whispered back and forth with each other made him feel on edge.

"Richie" Beverley beckoned, wiggling her finger at him. He obeyed without question, moving over to sit on the ground with her and Bill. 

She moved to sit in Richie's lap, the way she always did when she was trying to suggest a idea. To entice him to agree with her.

He was always determined to not let her break him. But she always did. 

"Oh no" he muttered as she settled down, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. "What is it this time?" 

She gave him a mischievous smile, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Why do you act like something bad is going to happen?"

"Because it usually does" Richie sighed, carding a hand through his dark hair. 

His eyes moved over to Bill, watching him fidget with his fingers. What was wrong with him?

"Stan and I told Bill about you wanting to figure things out" she said softly, and a tinge of panic piked up in Richie's chest. 

"Wha—"

"And Bill said he wanted to help" 

Richie's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. What? 

"What? How would he help.....—?"

He looked at Bill again, biting his lip in embarrassment, and a wave of red washed over Richie's face. Oh. 

"Y-y-you don't have to, I am j-ju-just offering. I want to be supportive" 

Richie laughed, hard. "Jesus Big Bill, you sure take being supportive to another level." 

"Again. You don't have to. It's just a offer." Beverley quickly adds, being able to feel how tense Richie was. 

"So Stan knows about this?" Richie still had a playful smile on his lips, but truly it was there, hiding his slight panic. 

"Stan was the one to suggest it. He didn't want to do it himself, but if Bill said no he might have" 

Richie slapped his face, they were probably more stupid then he was. He didn’t want to know about this. He didn’t want to be taken care of, and he didn’t want anyone having these kind of conversations behind his back. 

"No one has to fucking kiss me. It's not like I'll die if I don't figure it out"

"I-I-I know. But I still want to do it" Bill says, moving closer to Richie, he was being so gentle about it, it made him fill with more confusion.

"Why?" 

The silence was telling. He really wish he didn't figure it out. Wanted to live with the blissful ignorance of thinking Bill didn't know he was Richie's first crush. 

This day is just becoming worse and worse.

He let out a slightly annoyed sigh. "God damn it" 

He turned his head to Bill, expectantly, watching his blue eyes. They reminded him of Beverley. His fidgeting made him think of Ben. His lips reminding him of Stan, and the smile lines on his face reminding him of Mike. But what really got to him, was his soft brown hair that reminded him of Eddie. 

Eddie. 

A part of Richie wanted to save his first boy-kiss for Eddie. But he knew that would be utterly stupid. There was no possible way Eddie would want him back. 

And Richie would curse himself to being a mouth virgin for the rest of his existence. 

So with a labored sigh, he closed his eyes, moving closer. At first nothing happened. There was a pregnant pause. And Richie soon thought he was probably making a fool of himself. Then he was met half way. The kiss was very brief, and dry, but soft and tender. 

Richie opened his eyes before Bill could pull away, and could see Bill's eyes were open too. 

He couldn't help but crack a smile while still pressed up against Bill, and he could feel the other boy smile into the kiss at well. It was a comfortable, goofy grin. 

And when they pulled away, Bill just laughed. It was light and airy, he stared at Richie, watching him exspetably. 

The kiss was nothing like the one he had with Bev. That one was sloppy, and a lot more of a kiss you'd think two teenagers would share. The one with Bill was more of a peck, almost like the type of kiss you'd expect from a old couple. 

But something about it made his heart do a tiny flip. And he burried his face into his hands. 

"Jesus. I'm a real player huh?" He tried to joke, but his voice was weak. "Two kisses from two different people within a few days? What am I James Bond?" 

"James Bond does way more then kiss" 

"So h-h-how was it?" Bill finally questioned.

"How was it for you?" Richie quickly cuts in, its slightly teasing, but also curious. 

"It was fine" Bill answers honestly. And that's good, at least he isn't disgusted by Richie. 

But now it was Richie's turn, and he didn't know how to answer, didn't know what to say. So like always he let his mouth go on autopilot.

"Yeah I do think I prefer boys" he says lamely, before looking away, not wanting to see their faces. "I liked it better then kissing a girl" 

Bill rose a eyebrow, looking at him with a questioning gaze. What girl had Richie ever kissed? 

Right, he forgot. He kept that between him a Bev. 

Luckily however Bill chooses not to voice his inquiry. It’s better off that way. 

"Well that's great news huh??" Beverly says, clapping happily, seemingly very satisfied with the results. 

Bill nodded agreeing, and Richie slowly followed suit. "Yeah. It is" 

Nothing in Richie had necessarily changed, or newly developed. Though he could now say who the better kisser was between Bill and Beverley. It was Beverley (even though she was a girl). 

There was no sudden realization like he thought there would be. He must on some level had just already known, just didn’t want to admit it. 

So that was it. It seemed like hours, of painstaking build up, but really it was just about ten minutes. 

And when they all climbed up the ladder to exit the club house, Richie instantly noticed Stan never left, he just was standing outside waiting, wanting to give them privacy. 

Richie jumped up and grabbed his hair, giving him a noogy, holding him down by his shoulder. Stan just groaned annoyed, struggling to get out of Richie's grasps. 

"You little—" Richie began, but Stan interrupted him. 

"But it worked didnt it?? You can't get mad at me for it!” he whined, moving to finally pull himself away, resting a hand on his hip in that sassy way he does it when he knows he is right. 

"So what if it did?" Richie rolled his eyes, but the smile on his lips betrayed him. 

They all four walked out of the woods together, talking absently about something else. As if Richie and Bill hasn't just kissed in their damn club house. 

Richie pinched himself real quickly to make sure he wasn't dreaming. 

Nope. That shit hurted. 

"So" Stan began, as Beverley and Bill walked ahead of them, getting prepared to cross the street as they made their way out of the path of trees.

"It's Eddie. Isn't it?" 

Richie's heart stop. He could have sworn he was being thrown into a vortex, when he turned to look into Stanley's knowing eyes. 

That damn bastard. 

Richie was shaking. Or maybe more vibrating, at such a frequency he felt like he might phase through the ground, or shatter glass. 

"What?" 

"It's Eddie. You like Eddie" Stan says, blunt and to the point. 

"I-i" 

"I fucking knew it" Stan grinned, eyes washing over Richie. He sighed like he was relieved. "Thank fuck I was worried it was me.”

"What? You? EW!" 

"Well that's a little rude. What's wrong with me?" 

"You just said you didn't want it to be you!" 

"Doesn't mean I can't be offended of the prospect of you saying 'ew' at the idea of me" 

"Stan, I'm sure you’d make a great homosexual, but no offense, you're a little uptight.”

"Uptight? Excuse me? Do you not know who Eddie is at all? The guy you are pinning for? He probably has more unexplained fears then all of us combined.”

"Hey don't talk shit about Eddie" 

"I'm not saying anything bad about Eddie, I love him dearly, but all I'm saying is out of everyone, Eddie is probably the most uptight here.”

"Would you two stop bickering?" Beverley asks, amused. 

Quickly Stan and Richie's heads snap to attention, seeing Beverley and Bill leering at them. 

Shit they heard everything. 

"I-I-I knew it was Eddie. You o-owe me 5 b-bucks Bev!”

She cursed under her breath, sighing and promising him she will give him the money when she gets some. 

"What? You made a bet on who I liked?" 

"Actually all of us did. Bev also owes me some money.” Stan pipes up, easy and refined.

"Ben thought it was Bill, and Mike honestly thought Stan." Beverly offers, sighing into her hand. 

"Who did you think it was?" Richie questioned, trying not to sound scandalized by the prospect of his friends betting on his romantic interest. It felt like he was the punch line of some secret inside joke he didn’t get to be a part of. 

"Well I didn't think it was anyone in the group, I just thought it would be someone like Tom Selleck or some shit.” 

"Now Beverley is absolutely correct, that man is a hunk, she owes none of you money.” Richie shook his head confirming it, pointing at both the boys, eyes peering over his glasses dramatically. 

“Now that’s a MAN!” He swoons in a southern bell accent, throwing a arm over his head to add to the theatrics. 

The other boys sighed, but more over the disappointment of not reviving their prize money. Soon they all continued making their ways home. 

It felt unnatural how natural it felt. If that makes sense at all. No one batted a eyelash at Richie saying anything remotely gay. No one was bothered with it. No one hated him for it. 

He quickly realized the only person who hated him for it, and was bothered by it. Was himself. 

He decided to change that real quickly. No longer was it going to be something to hold him down. No longer would it be a weapon used against him. By Pennywise, bullies or even himself. Richie was gay. And he was going to learn to be okay with that. 

All he needed was time, and the losers gave him all the time in the world.

So finally, there was grin splitting his face, he ended up walking home with Bill, Stanley’s parents already sick of him for the few days he stayed. Bill’s parents are always so much more understanding, and as they walk to his house, they talked about comic books, and their favorite new albums. Nothing changing.

Something like a weight lifted off Richie, it was so fucking freeing he wanted to keep that feeling forever, light and care free. No longer trapped in his own mind, constantly afraid and on edge. No longer always in denial, so far in the closet he would have ended up in Narnia. It was amazing, it was a feeling he never wanted to forget, he would grapple with Alzheimer’s if he had to. 

All was well. All accept one thing. He’d have to tell Eddie. 

He gulped down a scream of frustration. Why did that scare him so much? All logic points to nothing being any different, Eddie would probably be just as supportive, if not more. So what about it made him so worried? 

No matter how many questions got answered there was always a new one popping up, ruining his day. Was he doomed to constantly be confused? 

So he pushed it back, not wanting to think that tomorrow morning, he would have to tell everyone he didn’t want to go to the arcade with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Each comment means so much to me!


	5. Show Some Support

"What. The. Fuck." Richie clenched at the laminated magazine papers, feeling a intense flush of red crawling over his face, demanding its rightful place on his pale skin. 

"No seriously. What the fuckle dude. Like holy fucking shit, wowza. This is just. Fucking—" he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "wow." 

Mike sat across from Richie, a doppey grin splaying over his lips, with faux innocence. 

Bill watched the scene play out from his doorframe, leaning against it and trying desperately, and failing, to not snicker at it. 

Mike and Richie sat at two opposite ends of Bill's bed. 

In Richie's lap, was a Play Girl magazine. Correction, 4 Play Girl magazines, all of which Mike somehow got a hold of. That for some reason Mike decided to get. And even more bazaarly, thought to bring them to Richie of all people. 

It reminded Richie very fondly of when he would bring very similarly, the Play Boy counterpart of these magazines too his friends house's. He had always enjoyed flipping through them, but never on his own time, only when he was in the company of the other Lozers. He just liked watching the reactions of his friends as they looked at the many different imagines of scantily clad or basically naked women in the pages. How they would start stuttering, or blush in embarrassment. Or just stare like idiots. 

Richie quickly realized, finally it was his turn to look like the idiot, blushing the same way his friends always would. 

"Why—How did you get these??" 

"I have my ways. Don't worry" Mike said, nonchalantly.

Unfortunately, Richie was worried. 

"I—" Richie tried to begin but felt panic rise up in his throat when he slowly lifted the cover, looking curiously at the first page. He was greeted by a large, muscular man, hair on his chest, glistening with oil. He was unnaturally tan, and laying on some type of fur blanket, a smirk on his face, glass of wine in his hand, wearing nothing but a tight speedo. He slapped the magazine close, and put them away under a few of his things. 

He had to compose himself. This was his friend trying to be supportive. 

"Thanks I guess?" Richie was able to muster up after a moment. Mike just smiled in response, bright white perfect teeth dazzling between his lips. 

Richie had stayed the night at Bill's house as planned. Telling, but not in full detail, the basics of what happened that night he got home. Bill's mother urged him to stay with them for a while, but Richie knew he would have to get back to his parent's house by the end of next week or they would just get angrier. 

It was morning, and Mike came to pick Bill up to go to the arcade. But first he wanted to quickly say hello, gifting Richie something before they had to leave. 

Well that was definitely something. 

Richie had explained to Bill that night that he didn't want to go, and despite his fears, he seemed to understand, and promised he'd explain it to everyone else for him.

That seems the be the running theme for all of Richie's fears, his friends were too filled with love and understanding for anything truly wrong to happen.

As he watched the two of them shuffle around the room, counting the money they collected, Richie sunk back into Bill's mattress. He was covered in blankets, and his glasses were most likely somewhere on the floor, but he didn't care to look right that moment. 

Bill and Richie had actually talked a lot that night, about more things then just Richie's fears. They got a little bit more in depth about the kiss during the late hours of the night. In whispered hushed tones. Bill explained how different it was to kiss a boy rather then Beverly. Richie was about to make a crude comment, but Bill just brushed it off. They ended up agreeing, albeit hesitantly, that it was kinda nicer kissing each other, even though Beverley was still wonderful. It just felt more. Familiar. They blushed, hiding under his blankets, giggling, smiling like idiots and making jokes, passing rumors back and forth like two school girls. It was comfortable. 

It was a night of discovery, at least for Bill. Him admitting to being slightly curious when it came to boys, Stan, in particular, being something of a awakaening for him. It was a small crush, and it never amounted to anything. It didn't last that long, which was for the best, Stan was straight, or most likely. He has been trying to get a date with Patty Blum for the longest time. And well, Bill had Bev. 

"You know. I don't think you know actually—" Richie began, sucking in a breath. He slightly regretted saying anything. "Nevermind" he quickly rushed out, realizing it was just making him look more guilty. 

"W-w-what?" Bill asked brows knitted together. 

Richie didn't know if it was his place, if he was allowed to say anything, but he felt like he should. "I think. Well a lot of us think. Ben. He. He likes Bev. A lot. Probably more then you do." It was a struggle to get it out. And even harder to have to watch Bill's reaction. 

Bill made a face, one that was slightly unreadable, but it also seemed sad, like he had done something wrong, like he had hurt Ben, when it wasn't his fault. It was Beverly who made the choice. And It wasn't her fault either. It was no ones fault. It was just unfortunate. Richie watched, nothing but the sound of their soft breathing lulling the air around them, as Bill took in the information, slowly processing everything. His eyes squinted in contemplation, bright blue even in the dark lighting from under his covers. His lips sunk into a unattractive frown. 

Slowly his eyes shifted to look at Richie, "I should h-have known" he groaned, laying back, head hitting the side of his wall. He was realizing all at once, the signs he missed. Or maybe chose to not notice. 

"Hey we are all slow sometimes. But it's okay man. I just thought you should know" 

"T-thank you." And for the rest of the night, they talked about anything and everything, while peaking through the magazine pages. 

Now, Bill was smiling, which looked much better on him, giving Richie a wave as Mike and him begin leaving the room, turning to ask one last time, "you sure you don't w-w-want to co-come?" 

Richie simply shook his head, and Bill thankfully didn't push. He could hear the sound of their footsteps as they made their way out the front door, leaving him in silence. 

He laid there, content but all the same swirling with disappointment. He wanted to be with his freinds, he wanted to be with Eddie. But that's much easier said then done. He sighed, letting his fluttering breath desolve onto the air, hoping his thoughts could follow in example. 

As the morning stretched on, more and more light poured in through the windows. Richie could hear movement from downstairs, and slowly got up, making his way down the steps when he spot Bill's mother. 

"Oh hello Richie? Would you like some breakfast?" She asked, easily gliding around the kitchen liked she owned it. Well, she did. 

She had some food already on the counter, getting ready to cook it. She didn't question why Richie didn't leave with Bill, and he was glad about that. 

"Sure." He answers, making his way to sit on a stool on the opposite side of the counter, "I mean. Uh. Yes please" he corrected himself quickly. 

She just smiled, nodding her head and getting back to work. 

Richie was always slightly infatuated by Bill's mother, wondering if that was what it was like to have a real mom, one that loved you. Or at least knew how to show it. 

It was part of the reason Richie never made mom jokes directed at Bill, he kinda respected her. 

They idly speak back and forth, talking about random things, mainly about Bill, how he has been doing, what he might like for a birthday present, and has he shown any new interest in things and so on.

The subject of school is brought up, and Richie unfortunately has to remember, that in just a month, school will start again, and they will begin freshman year in high school. 

Ew. 

But besides that uncomfortable topic, the rest of the morning is spent in a pleasant calm. One Richie needed after everything. He knew the reason Bill's mother loved mothering him and the other losers so much, was because a part of her was trying to fill that void Georgie left.

Richie understood that he would never truly understand the type of pain Bill and his parents felt after Georgie. And he hoped he'd never have to in the future.   
____________________

There is a swift kick at Bill's bedroom door. The hinges creak, as it flys open, crashing into his side wall. On the precipice of a total meltdown, stood Eddie. His cheeks flushed red, his fists clenched. 

Richie sat up in the bed, looking to the alarm clock on the side of the room. It was 5 pm, the day basically over. 

He turned his attention back to Eddie, who was now stomping in the room. God, not this again. 

"Spaghetti, you okay? Have a fun day today—"

"Why didn't you come? Huh? What's this bullshit about Bill saying you are sick?" Eddie rudely interrupts. 

Behind Eddie's shoulder is a apologetic Bill, giving Richie a look that says, 'I'm sorry, I tried. I really did' 

Richie sighed, a part of him enjoyed, it really did, fighting with Eddie. But these were one of those times he did not. He didn’t have the energy. 

“Ed’s I wasn’t feeling so good that’s all. You don’t need to yell.” Richie spoke, teetering between carful and irritated. 

Eddie didn’t seem to care what Richie had to say however. 

Quickly Richie’s eyes flicked over his body, just taking a few seconds to process what he was wearing. That bright yellow polo shirt he was so fond of, and those damn tight red shorts again. He tried his best to not get distracted. 

“I don’t fucking understand why you couldn’t make it? You once came out to the quarry with us when you had fucking strep throat.” 

“You don’t need your throat to swim Ed’s.”

Eddie snickered, clearly not amused. 

“You sure as hell wasn’t feeling under the weather when you were hanging out with everyone yesterday?” 

“Under the weather? What are you? 90?” 

Bill takes the initiative to slowly step in between them. “Eddie, i-i-it’s okay. Richie just needed p-p-people over to cheer him up.”

Eddie seems to be dripping with acid, burning into the floor, as he turns to Bill, “so why couldn’t he make it today huh?” He replies. 

“I told you, I don’t feel good” Richie butts in, not wanting to drag Bill into the argument. 

Eddie in just a few swift steps, waltz over to Richie, putting the tips of his fingers on his forehead. “Well you don’t seem fucking sick.”

“It’s not that—“

“Oh so you can hang out with everyone else but not me?” 

“This has nothing to do with you Eddie!” Richie pleads, getting more and more agitated as it goes. But at the same time desperately wanting to calm the ball of fire that is Eddie Kasprak. 

“Really huh? It’s unfair that you hang out with everyone, but not me. Why am I being left out? Am I being replaced?”

“No of course not what are you senile?? You might actually be 90!” 

“Well it sure feels that way, when you have a sleepover with everyone but me!” 

“That’s not R-R-Richie’s fault!” Bill tries to quell the burning flame as well, “yo-you could-c-co-couldn’t make it yesterday. We did try to in-invite y-y-you.” 

At this point Eddie is jittering, looking like he might bounce off the walls any minute. 

Richie reached for the flame, “Ed’s, Mike couldn’t make it last night either. But this morning he wasn’t mad.” 

“You got to see Mike this morning? What the fuck! I didn’t know about this! What are you avoiding me?”

He got burned. 

“No! I’m not.” 

“Then you shouldn’t keep secrets! I know you aren’t actually sick!” 

“I didn’t say I was sick!” 

“Then what did you mean by saying you don’t feel well!” 

“Emotionally! EMOTIONALLY you fucking asshole! I don’t want to fucking deal with this right now and that’s why I’ve been fucking avoiding you!” The pin drops. It’s silent yet so loud, screaming. 

Eddie’s eyes widen, filling with a something Richie wasn’t aware of. It was like he didn’t actually truly believe Richie was avoiding him, didn’t want to admit it. But now that it’s confirmed, there was no going back, no denying it. 

Regret surged through Richie, like a knife plunging into his chest. 

“W-why me?” Eddie choked out, and he was making that face again, the same face he made before he would start crying. Like the day he burst into Stan’s room. 

Richie finally decides this time he won’t let that happen. 

He reaches out, grabbing a hold on Eddie’s sweaty hand. Eddie’s hand was so small compared to his, Richie easily engulfing his. He tugged him down into his body, wrapping his lanky limbs around him. 

“I’m sorry. I really am. I-.” He inhaled sharply, desperately wishing he had a cigarette right about now, “I guess I was so focused on my self, and how I felt, that I forgot how it would effect you. And make you feel.” 

Eddie settled between Richie’s leg, his back pressed into Richie’s chest. It made Richie’s heart do somersaults. But it also made it so he couldn’t see Eddie’s face. He wouldn’t know how he was reacting. 

Eddie stayed silent, wordlessly coaxing Richie to continue his assault of word. 

“I’ve been through a fucking lot the past few days. And I will admit, yes, I have been keeping a secret from you. A secret that everyone else already knows. One that I should probably tell you.” Richie pauses, letting out his breath. His head falling to Eddie’s shoulder, shutting his eyes closed as he gripped the smaller boy desperately. “But I can’t. I really can’t” 

Richie can hear Eddie’s breathing stop, “why?” He asks, suddenly sounding calm. It was almost creepy.

“I just. I can’t tell you.” 

“Why can’t you tell me? Me in particular? What did I do? Did I do something to make you not trust me? Di—“ his voice started to loose its calm, breaking slightly, cracking, “am I a bad friend? Do.... do you hate me?” 

Richie instantly squeezed himself around Eddie, feeling the need to wrap himself around him, to cocoon him, and protect him. A sudden wave of possessiveness flooding his mind. 

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bill, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, slowly backing out of the room, like he was watching something that was too intimate for anyone else to see. Leaving Eddie and Richie. 

Eddie and Richie. 

Eddie and Richie. 

Just the idea of it, was magical. 

“I don’t fucking hate you Ed’s. You know I love you.” More then you think. 

“Then I don’t get it” Eddie’s voice is suddenly small, so tiny Richie could cradle it in his hands. 

“I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just.” He carded a hand through his hair, leaning into Eddie, “I promise. I will tell you soon. I just. I need time.” And that was it. 

They sat, in the quiet of Bill’s room, neither of them speaking. Richie figured it was that Eddie was satisfied with that answer. 

He was wrong.

Eddie seemed to sit there for a only a few minutes, letting his head run wild in thought, wrapped in Richie’s embrace. Savoring the moment, before quickly getting up. “Well then.” He fixed his shirt, putting both hands to his sides, “I’ll talk to you. When you have the time Richard.” Eddie bites back, turning to give Richie a betrayed look. 

“Whenever you want to tell me whenever the fuck it is. You know where I live” Eddie began, fiddling through his Fannypack, looking for something. His inhaler, “until then. Don’t fucking speak to me trash-mouth.” It came out loud, and harsh. Each word laced bitterly with vexation.

And before he knew it, Eddie was gone, left out the door. Leaving the ashes of the flame he burned, behind. 

Bill slowly inched into the room, peering over at Richie, looking at him worried, having heard everything that happened. 

Richie tried to not let it get to him.   
_____________

It was definitely getting to him. Sunday afternoon, Richie found himself on Eddie’s doorstep, knocking on the screen door. Hearing the same familiar sound of Sonia yelling at Eddie to answer it. 

“Okay mommy!” He could hear from inside the house. 

When Eddie did answer the door however, his welcoming smile melted into a displeased one, once his eyes landed on Richie. 

“What is it?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I just wanted to check in on you. Maybe hang out?” Richie tried, the losers already agreeing to let Richie have the club house to himself, so that him and Eddie could catch up. 

Stan’s annoying “oh, please don’t get gay on the hammocks please.” Making Richie snicker slightly at the memory. 

“Does this mean you will be telling me your secret then? And be one hundred present honest with me?” Eddie’s eyebrow raised, eyes scanning Richie expectantly. 

“I-well.” Richie stumbled over his words. He wasn’t ready yet. He couldn’t. It was too much. “No- well no not yet. I was ju—“ 

Richie couldn’t even get the rest of his absolute disastrous speech past his lips before the front door was being slammed in on his face.  
____________________

Monday, did not go any smoother. 

“Eddie please you need to understand.” 

“Oh I fully understand Rich” he seethed, trying to peel Richie’s fingers off his window seal. 

“I understand that you trust everyone else, but me. That’s what I fucking understand. Just fucking leave me alone Rich. I don’t want to have to look at your stupid face.” He barked, finally managing to push Richie off the side of his house, slamming shut his side window. The one Richie always used to sneak into his room, when his mom didn’t want Eddie to have friends over. 

He landed in a bush, seeing Eddie watch him land, and then move away from the window when he knew Richie was okay. 

His head fell back into a annoyed groan.  
__________________

Tuesday, Eddie kept to his word. Not even looking Richie in the face, just shoving him off his porch and flipping the bird to him, before shutting his door, and making a point by bolting the lock. 

________________

Wednesday, Richie didn’t go to Eddie’s house. He just stayed in Bill’s room, collecting filth on his body. It had officially been a week since he had showered. If he was still with Stan, Stanley would have definitely forced him to bathe himself by then. But Bill just powered through like a solider, allowing Richie to mourn. 

He would have to go back home tomorrow, and he wasn’t looking forward to that. But he couldn’t eat everyone else’s food, and take up their bed space. At the end of the day his parents were his legal guardians, and if they reported him to the police, Bill’s parents could get in trouble for kidnapping a minor. 

It’s already happened once at Stan’s house. That’s why Richie hadn’t been over there in so long. 

So as he packed his play girl magazines, and a few of Stan, and Bill’s shirt they lent him. He prepared himself for facing his parents.   
________________

Thursday could have been worse. But it also could have been better. 

He walks into the house around late noon, seeing his mother on the couch, black eye and open bottle of vodka in her hand. 

She turns to look at Richie. It’s a long, and pregnant pause, a thoughtful look flashing over her features. Like she was suddenly just remembering she had a son for the first time in a while. And then she turns back to whatever she was watching on TV, not batting a eye as he closed the door behind him, making his way to the stairs.

Richie had been gone for almost a week, and his mother couldn’t give him as much as a hello. 

Once he was in the safety of his room, he knew he wouldn’t have to deal with his father until later that night when he got back from work. 

He thought about maybe taking a shower before then, washing his clothes. Even just combing his hair. But he decided against it. What’s the point anyway?   
___________________

Friday sucked. Richie was hungry, but he was too sad to eat. He needed to pee, but was too sad to get up. 

He needed to brush his teeth, or change his clothes. But he was too sad to move. 

So he laid there wallowing in self pity. Sorting through his thoughts, organizing them into different sections, each with different filing cabinets and little tags that labeled them. 

Another “I’m hungry” thought passed through his brain, and he put it in the ‘non important’ cabinet. 

And just down the hall, he could see the ‘self hate’ cabinet shake, looking like it was about to burst, the papers over flowing each drawer. He ignored it. Just shoved another ‘I hate myself’ in there, cramming it in and hoping the whole thing won’t pop.

____________________

Saturday Beverly comes by, checking in on Richie while his parents were out. 

She could see the dark circles under his eyes, his hair oily and a mess, all tangled up, and smelling putrid. 

She expressed her concerns but he just ignored them. Like he did all his problems. Like he did to Eddie. 

Like Eddie was doing to him. 

It took a while, and a little bit of arguing, but he was able to get Beverley to leave, spending the rest of his day in bed. Ready to be eaten by the consuming universe around him. 

He knew Beverley was probably going to get someone else to come over, someone who could physically pick Richie up, and take him out of the house. He knew she was going to make sure he wouldn’t be stuck like that for too long. But he just huffed, taking a drag of his cigarette, not caring about smoking in his house. 

It was something he would just deal with tomorrow. For now. Back to sorting.


	6. Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: abuse, and experiencing depression.

"Get the fuck out of here faggot!" 

Bowers words still ring in his ears, his hands still tremble the same way, and he can still see all the boys in the arcade slowly move back and away from Richie as he left. Like he was dirty. Like he might touch them. Like it might be contagious. 

His feet couldn't carry him any faster, back to that stupid statue in the middle of the park. But he's done this before, he knows if he stops there Pennywise will attack him, torment him. 

At the time though, he didn't even know who Pennywise was. Or if he was even real. 

He goes to Eddie's house like he always did, climbing up the side of his house, using the tiling of the wood to boost him up. He tapped at the window and like always, Eddie opened it, not questioning what it was this time. It was all too familiar. 

All Richie wanted was to play a extra round with the cute boy who obviously was interested in him as well. But if he had known it was fucking Henry's cousin he would have left way earlier. 

He hobbled in, watching the other boy, while wiping the sweat off his glasses, onto the bottom of his shirt. 

Eddie seemed to be putting away the last semblances of the school year under his bed, old notebooks he wanted to keep, and other school supplies. 

Summer had just begun, and it was pretty great. Besides that little mishap in the arcade. Richie didn't want to have to think about all the kids who will now think Richie was a fairy once he started high school in 3 months. 

Eddie moves to sit on the bed, it was small, twin size, perfectly made and clean. He scooted over, letting Richie sit next to him. 

And Richie gladly did so, watching the way the corner of Eddie's lips twitched when Richie put his hands on his sides, tickling him just slightly. Just to hear that tiny little giggle. 

God listening to Eddie laugh was something out of this world. 

They didn't speak. Just looked at each other. 

And something strange built up in Richie's chest, something so warm and fuzzy yet at the same time hard, and heavy. Threatening to bubble up his throat and expose him. 

It happened everytime he was alone with Eddie. He'd get violent butterflies in his stomach. Except they were larger, more menacing, ravens and crows, trashing around his insides, stuck in a tar pit. The more they struggled the more they got stuck. 

"Ed's" his voice surprised both Eddie and himself, not exspecting it to come out. Eddie looks at him, bright eyes gracing themselves onto Richie. He gulped. 

"I love you." 

It came out, long and foreboding. It made his skin crawl, and his body want to implode on itself. This was true fear. 

And Eddie looked at him, expression unchanging. "Rich..." he began, voice seeming hoarse, broken. 

Richie hated the way it sounded. 

"I mean it Eddie. I love you. As in I'm in love with you." It took every ounce of courage for Richie to get those words out, he wasn't good at this, Eddie was the brave one. 

Eddie shook his head, frown contorting his face. "No, no. You don't." 

"Yes. Yes I do! I have always sort of known. I have always felt it dee—"

"Beep Beep" Eddie howled, causing Richie to jump. It was almost inhuman, a annoying screeching noise that made him flinch. 

"What?" 

"BEEP BEEP" 

"I didn't even say anything—"

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP—  
BEEep beep beep 

Beep.

Oh. 

Richie shot up out of his bed, punching the alarm clock as hard as he could. Albeit more then truly necessary. Why the fuck did a alarm go off on a Sunday? 

He groaned, feeling the light of morning leaving a burning sensation in the back of his eyes. He fell back into his bed, shoving a pillow into his face, feeling the need to scream. 

Everything was just so frustrating. 

"Ow fuck." He hissed, his knuckles beginning to throb from the pain. "Fucking dumbass" he castigated himself, tugging at his hair. 

Then there is a knock at his door, and he freezes. 

Did Beverley actually send someone to collect him? Did he really have to talk about his feelings so early in the morning? 

He didn't even have the time to tell anyone to come in, when his door opened, it creaked at the hinges, and his mother stepped in slowly. 

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything?" She questioned, keeping her hand on the door knob.

"No Ma, it's all good. What is it?" He peered, looking from under his pillow, to see her shuffle awkwardly. A forced smile on her lips. 

"I made breakfast for you honey." She coo'd, Richie's eyebrows shot up, probably blending into his hairline in shock. It's been years since she has made food. 

There was a pause, one that he didn't really realize was there as his brain tried to comprehend everything after just waking up. It was made apparent when she cleared her throat, getting his attention again. 

"Oh. Okay. Thank you Ma, I'll be down right away." He tried to sound casual, but he really didn't know how to speak to her. He felt like he had to be unnaturally formal, like talking to someone you just met for the first time. 

She leaves his room, closing the door behind her, and he can't help but smile a little. Well at least she is trying. Even though it won't last very long, it was still nice, for the time being. 

Getting out of bed is a feat in an of itself, but he manages, walking across the hall to piss first, he can't help but spot himself on the mirror, almost recoiling at the sight. 

The bags under his eyes weren't getting much better. His lips were pale and cracked, and his fucking hair was to the point of no return. The back of it was matted, like a raged dog, it was oily, and so tangled he would probably have to shave his head again. He hated the way he looked with short hair. And just when he got it to a decent length.

He didn't bother trying to shower or clean up, just hurried downstairs to see if what his mother said was really true. 

He first noticed the presence of his father, sitting at the dinner table that they rarely ever use, and that his father, never used, it was a foreign sight. 

He was hesitant but pleasantly surprised, when his mother brought out actual food. It wasn't quite the homemade breakfast that Bill's mother would make, it was freezer sausages, and pre-made pancakes. All she really did was warm it up. But it was still nice. And she did, make eggs. So that was something. 

He sat down, across from his dad, as she sat next to Richie.

The second thing he noticed was the orange juice placed in front of him, in a clean glass non the less. They have never had anything other then alcohol in their fridge, it was crazy to imagine someone went out and purposely bought anything else. 

Richie's father seemed to crack a grin at him when he noticed Richie staring at the juice. "I didn't know what you'd like, but I hope that's okay?" 

Richie jerked slightly, but not enough for it to be noticeable. He nodded his head, smiling back at his dad. "Yeah, no it's great, I like orange juice." He didn't, he preferred apple, but there was no point in saying it. 

His father seemed pleased with that, taking a sip of his beer. Richie looked over, seeing his mother, similarly with beer by her side. Never too early to drink in the Tozier house apparently. He noticed the makeup covering her black eye was splotchy, and not blended well. But no one spoke of it. No one ever did. 

Richie looked down at his plate. Everyone had the equal amount of food, and he smiled, a real sincere one. It felt like they were a family. Moments like these were always so surreal.

He ate his sausages first, laughing softly to himself as he made very dirty jokes about the implications. 

He ate both pieces quickly, realizing again how hungry he really was. That seemed to happen more often then not, he was getting too good at ignoring his body's needs.

He was about finished with his food, before his mother plopped a extra sausage on his plate. He turned to her, seeing she had sacrificed one of her own. 

He made a questioning look at her, and she shrugged. "I've noticed you haven't been eating that often. Thought you might need it more then me. You've been looking thin." Turns out she actually does pay attention. 

"Thank you." He honestly means it. Next thing he knows half of another sausage is placed not as gingerly on his plate.

"Sorry, I'm still hungry." His father laughed, shoving the other half of the sausage into his mouth. Richie just beamed up at him. "No, that's more then enough. Thanks." 

It was nice. It was. Even kind of wholesome. 

But deep down he knew they are just trying to make up for what happened that night. Trying to say they were sorry, trying to win him back. He doesn't let it take away from his good mood however.

After finishing everything, Richie cleans the dishes, as his parents settle into the living room. 

Once he was done, he made his way to the couch, surprising his parents as he sat down with them. 

He was testing the waters. So far, they are still.

His father lights a cigarette, blowing out the smoke towards the cracked window next to the tv. 

Richie didn't really pay attention to what was on the screen though. Just soaking in the moment, basking in the feeling just a little longer. 

There are a peace that settles among the three of them. He felt like maybe everything would be alright for once. 

Then his father speaks. "So. What did you tell the Denbrough's." His voice was monotone, unmoving, his eyes never leaving the tv. 

The water rippled. 

"I didn't say anything." Richie answers, trying his best to defuse whatever might happen.

"Oh really?" His father challenges, finally turning to look at Richie. He can feel his mother stiffen on the other side of the couch. 

"Then tell me why Mrs. Denbrough was so adamant about letting you stay with her until school starts?" 

"What?" Richie's face scrunched up in confusion, "I didn't know about that?" 

His father took a long drag, never breaking his eye contact with Richie, the cig burning to half its length. "Right. Like I'm supposed to believe that." 

Richie's leg began bouncing, itching to get him up and off the couch, away from his father. 

"I-"

"Did you tell them what I did?" He leaned in closer to Richie. "Did you guilt them into letting you stay?"

"No. I didn't." 

His father made a 'tut' sound with his teeth, but seemed to leave it at that, turning back to look at the tv. Richie kept his eyes glued to his father, watching him absently smoke and prop his feet up on the coffee table. He tried to relax again, turning to watch the gameshow, what ever gameshow it was. Mindless entertainment for a busy brain.

He thought over everything. The breakfast, the good natured jokes. He let out a shaky sigh, looking over at his mom who was curled up next to the armrest, eyes glued to the tv, not daring to make her presence known, lest some type of bomb go off. 

Oh but she didn't need to do anything. The fuse was already lit. 

It was almost instantaneous, but also slow. The burning feeling on the inside of his arm. His head moved down, trying his best not to wince. 

His father was putting out his cigarette, using Richie's arm as a appropriate method of doing so. Richie didn't even flinch however. He was used to it, though, not on the sensitive flesh of his inner arm, just right below the elbow joint. 

He watched as the flames went out, leaving his skin red and irritated. It matched all the similar scars on his legs. Though this time his father wasn't being carful anymore. He probably didn't care to hide the blister garnishing his son's skin.

It was his own form of punishment. Other kids would get grounded, maybe get their games taken away for the weekend. 

Richie would be burned. 

The feeling, was more intense, felt like his flesh was boiling. His arm, he just realized, was far more receptive then his outer thighs. 

Even when his father pulled away, the burn still screamed, pulsing painfully, leaving it tender and inflamed. 

He looked over at his mother, keeping the small tears in, determined to keep a straight face. She was watching, had seen it all, but turned a blind eye. 

The water became a wave. 

All of it, the nice warm feeling in his gut, it didn't last long. There they were, back to the way it's always been. How it would always end up. 

Wordlessly, Richie got up, neither of his parents protesting, as he made his way upstairs to the bathroom. 

There was already a mark, red like crimson and raised into a bump, some of the skin having been seered, leaving it slightly bloody. 

He reaches for the cabinet, finding some rubbing alcohol, and cleaning the wound. 

He hissed at the feeling, biting his lip to keep himself from cursing out. 

He was able to cover it in some Neosporin they had behind his mother's pills, and looked around for some bandaging. Of course they didn't have any. 

He moved to sit on the side of the bathtub, focusing on breathing. He didn't know why he found it so hard to do. He just stared at the new scar, wondering if it was just the start of a new matching set he'd be force to don.

He shut it eyes, clenching his fists tight, forcing his tears not to leak. 

Then there was a knock at the door that startled him. He worried that it would be his mother, but the knock was so gentle, he knew it wasn't. 

"Come in" he spoke, voice hoarse. 

The door opened after a moment, behind it a smiling face, that slowly turned not too cheery when he saw Richie. 

It was Ben, peering into the restroom, eyes scanning over him. Beverley must have sent him. 

Richie sighed, getting up slowly. "Hey Haystack, how you been?" 

Ben didn't answer, just moved out of the way, wrapping his hand around Richie's, and pulling him down the stairs. 

They leave without saying goodbye. But it wasn't like he really ever did that to begin with. And it wasn't like they cared to know where he went, every time he did. 

"You good Ben?" Richie questioned once they were outside the house, and Ben just pulled him into a hug. 

Richie stiffened in his arms, becoming more and more confused by his behavior. "Hey, Haystack what's wrong?" 

"I should be the one asking you that." Ben deadpans, squeezing Richie, and he hesitates. He feels all the tension in his body build up. Ben rubs his back in soothing circles, and he gives in, hugging him back. The tension melting out of all his pores.

They didn't even need to exchange words, as tiny tears fell over the edge of his eyes. "Shhhh" Ben whispered, patting Richie's back, and his body almost went limp. He had really needed a hug. 

It took a while for them to pull away, but when they did Richie was already feeling so much better. 

"Thank you." 

Ben just smiled, patting his shoulder, before looking down at the very apparent mark left on his arm. His eyes grew concerned, quickly looking up at Richie, looking for a answer.

He just shook his head in response. He didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Ben looked like he was about to argue, but stopped himself, just nodding and giving Richie the time he needed. 

His friends were too good to him.   
_________________

This time Richie was in Ben's house. He felt like he was being tossed around like a hot potato, between everyone in the group. Taking his shoes off before walking on the carpets, he followed the other boy into his bedroom. Ben had mentioned, that the rest of the losers would come by at 3. It was currently only 10 am. So they had 5 whole hours. He didn't know what to do with all that time, but apparently Ben did. 

Richie looked at all the posters on his walls, New Kids On The Block scattered around. Ben was less ashamed of his admiration for the band, once he had gotten the support he needed from everyone else.

"So why did you pick me up early?" Richie asked, moving to look at the legos on his desk. 

"I don't know. I just. I was worried about you. Wanted to check in on you. I had a hunch." 

Richie turned to look at Ben, who was picking up a few towels. 

"Well?" 

"My hunch was right." He sighs, moving to grab Richie's hand, Richie allowed it, not having enough energy to fight it. 

They walk to his bathroom, much larger and cleaner then Richie's. Not to mention, so much nicer. The bathtub was separate from the shower, and the counter had two sinks on both sides, with a large mirror above it. 

Ben set the towels on the counter, moving over to put a stopper on the bath drain, and began running the water, feeling it, and waiting for it to get warm, before moving to pour soap in it.

Richie just kind of stared, not really knowing or understanding what was happening. He decided to voice his concern, "what- are you doing?" 

Ben turned to him, and exhaled, staring at his face. "We are going to fix your hair." He says, sounding determined. Richie groaned. "I don't want to shave it off though?" His protest heightenly apparent by the squeak in his voice. 

"We aren't going to cut your hair Rich." Ben shook his head, moving to rest a supportive hand on Richie's shoulder. "I'm going to de-tangle it." 

"What are you crazy? That shit is so matted, it feels like a fucking brick back there. You'll end up ripping all the hair out of my scalp before you can get it untangled." 

Richie wasn't going to do this again, he had tried before, when his hair had gotten that bad, it was so painful, and annoying, pulling at the hair just for it to get even more knotted together. The brush would just get stuck, and his scalp would be stinging by the time he would make any progress. He had just chopped off his hair after that. 

Ben gives him apologetic eyes, squeezing his shoulders. "Trust me." He basically begs. Richie only agreed, because Ben had those puppy dog eyes you could never say no to.   
___________________

So there he was, naked in the bathtub, the bubbles covering his lower half, while Ben, wearing swim trucks and a t-shirt that was currently getting soaked, sat at the edge of the tub, legs on either side of Richie's torso. The bottom of his claves submerged. 

Richie's back was facing Ben, and it had been maybe 15 minutes of silence, as Ben's hands, covered in conditioner and soap, slowly unraveled his hair. 

Richie wondered if Ben was even doing anything back there, because he barely even felt a tug, Ben was being so carful, and incredibly gentle, that it made Richie feel all fuzzy inside. 

"So. How long have you. Been feeling this way?" Ben finally breaks the silence, reaching over to cup some water in his hand, running it through Richie's hair, grabbing the conditioner and squirting more into his fingers. 

"What way?" Richie tried to figure out. How long has he felt tired? How long he felt stupid? How long he felt gay?

"Depressed." Ben clarified, tone all knowing. 

Someone who was fine wouldn't have let their hair get this bad. 

Richie sat there for a moment, not saying anything. Ben didn't seem to push it though, still delicately moving his fingers through his curls.

He didn't pull, not even once, while he did it.

"I don't know. Since as far as I can remember. Since the first time mom and dad fought." 

Ben hummed in response, in a understanding kind of way. 

So Richie continued, "it's just, sometimes it's bearable, sometimes it gets worse and worse." 

"Has it been getting worse?" Ben's voice is as soft and delicate as his hands in his hair. 

"Yeah." 

And then they fell silent again. Richie idly playing with the bubbles, splashing the water as it got colder and colder. It must have been a hour, and his hair still wasn't close to done. 

And when Ben gets up out of the tub, Richie thinks quickly it's because he has given up, and they really are just going to buzz off his hair. 

He reaches for the plug, draining most of it, before pouring in more bubble bath, and refilling the rest of tub with much hotter water. 

Richie watches, and when Ben moves to sit behind Richie again, he settles into his spot again. 

"Why has it been getting worse lately." He slowly prods, both into Richie's hair, and into Richie's feelings.

He couldn't help it, Ben made him feel so safe, and taken care of. Richie allowed the words to spill out. "My parents have always been a issue. But I've never had to deal with them, while at the same time. My feelings for. You know." 

"Boys?" Ben offers, moving to softly massage his hands into Richie's scalp.

"Not just boys." He presses on, swaying his legs back and forth in the water. "But. More particularly. Eddie." 

Ben just lets out a airy "ha!" at that. 

"Guess I lost that bet." 

Richie slapped Ben's leg, getting another laugh from the boy before they settle down. 

"Is it hard. You know. Feeling that? What's the worse part." 

Everything. 

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe it's partiallyq that it's weird, having feelings for your best friend. I don't want to ruin our friendship. I don't want to scare him away. Maybe it's because a part of me is still ashamed for being gay." Richie finally pours out, letting his mouth go on autopilot for him. Knowing he would over think everything if he didn't. 

"But I think, really what it is. Is that I'm scared for him to know. Not just know I like guys, which is still a fear. Because what if he doesn't want to cuddle me anymore, or get near me, or hug—" 

Ben interrupts him, by tapping his shoulders with his soapy hands. "Did that information make Stan, or Bill, or Mike. Or even me stop wanting to be near you? From what I heard both Stan and Bill let you sleep with them in their beds. And Mike even got you porn-"

"It's not porn. No one is naked in it." 

"Still. I mean look at us. I'm literally bathing you." 

Ben did have a point. Not a single one of them treated him any differently then before. So why did he think Eddie would. 

"So what is it then. What are you scared of him knowing?"

"That I love him." That was the first time Richie actually admitted it out loud. In the real world. Not just in his thoughts, or in his dreams. It was real. And his first time saying it to anyone. Not even Stan, Bill or Beverley knew that information to the fullest. They just think he has a crush. 

Ben stay silent for that, not making any jokes, or comment. Letting it be quiet, allowing Richie to collect himself first. 

"Why?" Ben knew the answer, but he also knew Richie needed to be able to talk it out, to finally pop open that bottle. 

"Because what if he doesn't like me back? Statistically he is most likely straight." 

"Wouldn't have pinned you as someone into statistics." 

"I'm not. But. Uggh" he groaned, burying his face into his hands. "It's just. It breaks my heart. Every time I see him. I feel like I'm being broken into a million peices, but at the same time I crave it. I so desperately want to be near him, and see him, and hold him. It's so intense I can't breathe!" Richie slumped back, turning to look at Ben. 

"I just want him to be happy. But it would hurt so fucking bad to watch him be happy with someone else." 

Ben, this time, pulls his hands away, not moving. Richie can see his eyes, they are soft, and sympathetic, but oh so sad. 

He looks pained, like he might cry, and as his gaze meets Richie's, he just nods his head. "Yeah. I understand the feeling." He chokes out. And Richie instantly connects the dots.

Ben understands the feeling more then anyone else. 

Slowly, Richie turns back around, letting Ben get back to work, to keep their minds off of everything. The truth of the situation was far too much for both of them to deal with at the moment. 

Richie lets 10 more minutes pass before speaking. 

"This must be boring for you." He comments, relaxing into the now warm water, but making sure to keep his arm away from it, not wanting to feel the stinging sensation. 

"No not really. I'm occupied with something. It must be much more boring for you, just sitting there." Ben says, finally finishing one half of the hair, making a satisfying sigh as he was finally able to run his hand through the hair there. 

"Not at all ol' chap" Richie says, booming in a British accent. He had carefully placed bubbles over his face, covering his chin and upper lip, shaping them into a beard and mustache. He turns to Ben, grinning up at him. "I quite like becoming a soup. You shall call me, SOUP BOY, the boy of the soup! What are the soup ingredients you ask?" Richie strokes the bubble beard. "Well the main ingredients, are boys of course!" 

"But there is only one boy in the tub." Ben laughs, moving to grab some bubbles and make a handle bar mustache. 

Richie takes the opportunity. "Not for long!" 

He pulls Ben in, causing the water the splash and slosh around, some of it getting on the floor. But neither of them care, both laughing loudly, while Ben pushes Richie, and he pushes back. They wrestle for a moment, just giddy and smiling, before Ben moves back to his spot. 

"Alright, alright enough goofing off. I need to finish your hair." 

And so he does. A much more playful and positive mood settles between them. 

It takes another hour for Ben to finally finish. But he does, getting every single knot out, not hurting Richie once. And he is grateful.   
___________________

It's 1pm, as Ben bandages Richie's arm, wanting it not to get infected. 

He lends Richie some clothes, while he goes and washes Richie's far more disgusting clothes, he was wearing for half a week. 

There is a problem however. That is, Ben's clothes were way too big on him, made him feel like a tiny baby in a pile of rags. 

Ben's t-shirt reaches Richie's knees, and his shorts keeps falling off Richie's hips. Ben had suggested they just cinch a belt around his waist, make a cute little dress. He received a middle finger, and a dirty shirt thrown at him.

At 2 pm they eat lunch, Mike being the one to bring it over. It was fresh, and so fucking good, Richie gorges himself on everything until he vomits. Then comes back for seconds. 

3 pm, everyone else arrives. Bill with Beverley, having shared a bike, and Stan with Eddie. Those two always liked riding together, because they were always so particular about everything. Like two little clean freaks in a pod. 

As everyone settled around the room, Beverley just laughed at the fact that Richie couldn't keep the shorts up. And decided to join him, putting on one of Ben's shirts and wearing it like a dress. Richie just knew Ben was probably blushing his head off.

Richie sat with Mike, who was combing his fingers through his, now no longer matted hair. "Nice." Mike would comment every once in a while, boosting Richie's confidence. 

Though, Richie's eyes were looking across the room, at Eddie, who had his head in Stan's lap. Reading through a world record book Ben had laying around. He would cringe and make a face every time he saw something gross in the pages. It made Richie smile. 

"Alright, so on Tuesday, everyone promises they can make it to the movies right?" Beverley clarifies, making sure to get a yes from everyone. 

Richie says yes as well, knowing he has been putting it off for too long. 

"Alright wonderful. And we are spending the night right?" She asks turning to Ben. He smiles and nods. "Yeah everyone can stay." 

So they begin preparing, Stan leaving with Bill to go get extra sleeping bags, Mike going to get food, Beverley going to get clothes for her and Richie. 

Ben went to go start preparing movies in the living room, setting up blankets and things. 

Leaving Richie and Eddie alone. 

He took a deep breathe and built up the courage. 

“Hey spaghetti.” Richie tried, moving to flop down next to Eddie, a shit eating grin on his face. 

Eddie however didn’t seemed amused, turning to not look at Richie. 

Right, he wasn’t talking to Richie. 

“Common Ed’s don’t be like that. You know I’ll tell you. Just when I’m ready.” He tried to assure, reaching out to rest his hand on Eddie’s hips, pulling him into his lap. 

“Fuck you.” Eddie hissed back, trying to squirm away, kicking and wiggling like a toddler, making Richie laugh. 

Eddie keeps trying to pull himself up, and out of Richie’s arms, but he has no leverage, and Richie has always been stronger then him. He just laughs even harder, as Eddie curses at him, it being half-hearted and also slightly amused. But he knew Eddie wouldn’t admit it. 

Then, suddenly he stills like a statue, it’s so abrupt, it causes Richie to panic. 

“Woah. Ed’s you just have a stroke or something?” 

Quickly Richie’s arm is being pulled into Eddie’s lap, his chest pressed into the smaller boys back. It was a familiar position, they used to sit like this all the time. 

“What is this?” Eddie questions, seeing the gauze in the inside of Richie’s arm. 

Oh. 

Richie didn’t want to do this. But he knew keeping any more secrets from Eddie would just lead to more disaster. 

He thought it over, not even realizing he was shaking, but didn’t want to pussy out. “Take a look.” He spoke, gentle, lips pressed into Eddie’s hair, resting his chin on the back of his head. 

Eddie slowly peaked, lifting the gauze before gasping. It was soft, so quiet, that if he wasn’t so close to Eddie he wouldn’t of heard it. 

After a moment, Eddie begrudgingly pressed into Richie, knowing he needed to give him some kind of comfort, it being more important then being mad at him for the time being. He brushed his fingers in lazy patterns over the palms of Richie’s hands, and they stayed like that for a while until people started getting back. 

And then it was official. Another losers club sleep over, this time with every member present. 

All Richie had to do, was survive.


	7. Truth or Dare

"I-I-I am n-not putting that o-on my face b-Beverly." Bill exacerbates, Bev whining beside him, with a large pout, looking around the group of boys pointedly. She lays on Ben's bed, head hanging off, so Richie can only assume everyone is upside down for her. A puppy desperate for attention. 

"Common! It's good for you face. Not only does it clean your pores, it helps with the oils on your face, it refreshes your skin, it helps with acne!" She flails her arms, causing the sheets on the bed to wrinkle. 

"It's basically mud!" Eddie pipes up, from his spot in Richie's lap, (well it's more, slightly between his legs.) he still hasn't really spoken to Richie, being a stubborn little brat, but he still keeps physical contact with the other boy. That's all Richie needs to fuel his confidence, ready to poke a stick in that fire. 

"No, it's a avocado mask! It has great properties!" Bev argues, popping open the cap of the face mask goo. 

"It also, fights against germs." Beverley adds under her breath. Richie doesn't quite know if that's a lie. It very well could be the truth, but it also could be a tactic. One that seems to work. 

"Well..." Eddie begins, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he thinks it over, "if it keeps my face clean...." 

Beverley breaks into a shit eating grin, quickly moving to apply the mask into Eddie's face, and then her own. It looks slimy. It's surprising Eddie would let anything like that touch him; let alone his face. 

It doesn't take long for Stan to also begrudgingly agree to the mask as well, the three of them sitting in a row, the pale green of the avocado making them look like sickly ghosts, leaving only their eyes and mouths uncovered. Their hair tied up in tiny little pony tails to keep strands from getting stuck. 

Richie would make fun of them if Beverley didn't turn to him next. "Well?" She asks, already squirting some of the mush onto her fingers. 

"What is this? Is this because you don't have any girl-friends? Is it our civic duty to fill in for all that quality girl time you missed out during your youth?" He complains, pulling back from her advances. 

Beverly tuts, eyes squinting as she shoves his shoulders playfully. "What? Common you let me paint your nails last time!" 

"Yeah! Which means I've already paid my dues! Go be a girl with the rest of them." He shoo'd her, waving a hand dismissively. 

"Boys can wear face masks Rich." She rolled her eyes, looking at Stan and Eddie for support. They both just shrug, really they just wanted to not get pimples.

"Yeah" he laughed out, "the gay ones maybe." He says flatly. 

It doesn't even register for him for a moment. Everyone, except maybe Eddie, giving him a look. The one that says 'you're a fucking idiot' their staring confuses him.

Then the words finally catch up with his brain. Oh. Right. 

Maybe he should stop using gay as a insult now that's he's. The gay one.

The mask is cold, when she paints it over his cheeks, Stan moving to tie three large buns on top of Richie's head to keep his hair out of the way. Might as well just put rollers in there, it'll really sell the grandma look. 

He sighs when she finishes, feeling like his face is slowly stiffening up with each minute that passes. Is this shit concrete? 

By the end, all of the loser had their faces covered in masks, Ben being the next after Richie. All Beverley had to do was ask him with that sweet voice of hers, and he scurried over, letting her apply it, all the while staring at her with those hopelessly in love puppy eyes. 

God Richie hoped he didn't look like that when he stared at Eddie. 

Mike was after Ben, seemingly just as content with allowing it to happen. He didn't have anything to prove, more then happy to have glowing skin. Which wasn't very fair, he always fucking glowed. That boy was like a walking, talking, Maxell ad, skin like James Dean. Jeez let everyone else catch up would ya? 

Finally Bill gives in. Either from peer pressure, or just not caring enough to fight it.

There they sat. The lucky seven. Green faces. Hair tied with pink little rubber bands on top of their heads. Laying in a circle, talking about fucking horror movies. 

Those movies never scared any of them anymore. Not after what they've been through.

"So." Bev pipes up, moving to lay across Stan's lap, her chin propped up on her hand. 

"Who wants to play truth or dare?" It's a innocent party game, it was normal, even kinda popular to play during sleep overs. But something about it made Richie's skin boil.

Mike and Bill are the first to agree. Everyone else slowly warming to it. Richie however finds himself hesitant. 

"What's wrong scared to tell your secrets?" Eddie asks, half teasing half bitter. 

"What? No. But also. Picking truth is so boring. I'm more of a 'always choose dare' kinda guy myself." 

Eddie seems displeased by this, but as everyone settles around in a circle on the floor, there isn't much time to dwell.

"Alright." Ben begins. "I'll go first."  
___________________

A absolutely hectic hour passes, (by then they had already finished washing their faces) as the more time goes by, the more risky they get with their dares. 

"Lick a toilet seat!" Richie grins, voice booming, loud and annoying the way it always was. He's watching Stan cringe at even the thought. "Fuck no. I'm not doing that. Not all of us are as disgusting as you trashmouth." He moves over, scooting closer to Bill as to get away from the screaming child. 

"Well then you loose." Richie wiggles his eyebrows, grinning as Stan let's out a exuberant sigh. "Isn't there like a forfeit? Can't I just tell a truth or something." 

"What? No that's fucking lame!" Richie counters, shrieking with disappointment as Beverly allows it. 

"Fine. But you have to be 100% honest then." Richie grumbles, pushing his glasses to the tip of his nose to eye Stanley. 

"Fine." 

"Fine." Richie bites back, thinking of something to ask. 

"Oh I know." he grins, "ya ever walk in on your parents doin' it?" 

Stan seems to physically recoil, as if he was reliving some type of past trauma. His eyes close in annoyance and he lets out a groan, "yes. I have." He says, obviously pained. 

"Oh shit." Richie's brows shoot up. "Was it hot?" He smirks, practically oozing glee at Stan's reaction.

Stan shoots fire and brimstone daggers through his skull with a single stare, "what the fuck is wrong with you, they are my parents? NO. It was not hot Richie!" 

Eddie snickered, clearly trying to hold in a laugh. All Richie could do is grin at that. Mission accomplished. 

Stan turned to Eddie, annoyed. "Truth or dare, Eddie." He says with a sneer. 

Seems like he's out for blood. 

Everyone is slightly shocked when Eddie says, "dare." It's a ground breaking moment. Eddie having never taken a dare not once through out the night. 

Then again, this is Stan we are talking about. It isn't going to be too crazy. 

But then, a evil little snarky grin rose on his lips, and it made Richie slightly excited. He loved evil Stan. "Let the person to your right, put duct tape on any part of your body they choose and rip it off." 

Richie was now animatedly trilled, because he, was the person on Eddie's right. 

Eddie, looking over at Richie, panics not knowing if he should go through with it or not. 

"You can do it!" Beverly encourages, while Ben was already up, getting the duct tape. 

"You don't have to" Richie reassures, sounding more soft then he had meant to. "It'll be alright Ed's." It's crazy how Richie could go from being fully down with a idea to completely ready to throw it away, just from the little worried expression in Eddie's eyes.

"Don't call me Ed's" he barked, taking the roll of tape when Ben handed it over. It had been a while since Eddie had said that, he must have been really annoyed. 

"Gimme your arm." Richie coo'd, ripping a strip from the roll. He chose the arm that wasn't previously broken, even though the other one had the cast taken off a while ago, Richie was still overly cautious. Taking the duct tape, he covered Eddie's arm, it was the body part with the least amount of hair, that was exposed, so hopefully it wouldn't hurt him too much. 

'TWRIPPP'

"AH FUCK!" Eddie fell back into the carpet below him, grimacing, face scrunched up in pain. Everyone around him laughed, howling at his little shriek. Richie however is quickly moving over to soothe the skin, rubbing it with the palm of his hand. 

"Look Eds it's like a free waxing." He points out, looking at the now hairless patches on his arm. The duct tape not being 100% effective. 

Eddie glowered at him. "Don't call me Eds."

Then it was Eddie to Beverly, she chose dare, not wanting to be left out, and Eddie managed to get her to shove ice in her socks and walk around. 

Bev, got Mike, much to Stan and Eddie's dismay, to baby bird soda from Beverlys mouth. It was gross, and a fucking mess because the soda fuzzed up and got everywhere. 

Mike went bold, having Bill color one of his front teeth black, with a sharpie. And he fucking did it. He received many chants of how legendary he was, even Richie giving him the 'mad respect' card. 

Naturally, they needed to raise the stakes. So as Bill turns to Richie, not even asking truth it dare because he knows he will pick dare. He says. 

"Climb on the r-rroof, in nothing but your u-u-underwear." 

"What?!" Richie yells, looking outside at the now night sky. "Dude I could fucking fall and break something." 

"Woah I thought worrying about that stuff was a Eddie thing?" Beverly quickly counters, a dirty little grin on her face. Traitor. 

"Y-yeah Rich, what are you a p-p-pus-pussy?"

"Sorry what was that?" Richie cupped the back of his ear, leaning in like he didn't understand, "I didn't quite get that." 

Bill glares are him. 

"I said y-you're a p-p-"

"One more time Bill"

"I s-s-sai—"

"Still not getting it."

"Y-you're a puss-pu-"

"What was it?"

"I—"

"Repeat that again?"

"Fuck you!"

Bill tackled Richie, pulling him into a head lock, while repeatedly smacking the back of his head. Richie is able to get some leverage and flip him over, mushing Bill's cheeks together, laughing at the way he sticks his tongue out and flips him the bird. He grabs Richie by the collar, pushing him off him and smacking his back, hard, until it feels stinging. Richie hisses and retaliates by slapping the back of Bill's claves. 

It takes a little bit more of wrestling before they settle down, stupid grins on their faces. 

"Well. I said what I said didn't I?" Richie announces, standing up, everyone else staring at him as he takes off his shirt. 

But all he can focus on is Eddie's eyes on him, "wanna strip tease Spaghetti?" 

Richie wiggles in a poor attempt to be compelling, undoing his belt, his pants falling down his legs uneventfully in a big heap of cloth. 

"Ew, gross." Eddie made a scrunched up face, covering his own eyes with a hand. Richie didn't want to admit that made him feel slightly sad. 

Quickly, Richie moves to the bedroom window, lifting it up, and sticking his leg out, moving to stand on the seal and boost himself up into the roof. It's a awkward climb, but he manages. Everyone's heads sticking out the window as they look up at him. 

"If you step on a rusty nail you might need to get a tetanus shot!" Eddie calls from down bellow, eyes suddenly filled with worry. 

Richie laughs, liking the attention he was reciving from Eddie. Well, just do more stupid things, the more attention you'll get. 

So he walks to the edge of the roof, doing a little jig, dancing stupidly. 

"Richie!" Eddie basically shrieked, "don't do that! You might fall! You could break a rib, and that rib could puncture an internal organ! And then you'd be bleeding, INTERNALLY!" 

"But isn't that where the blood is supposed to be?" Richie laughed, testing his luck more and more. 

"Spaghetti, I'll be fine, if you are so worried, why don't ya just come up here and save me! Like a knight in shining armor!" He teased, batting his eyelids and making a pouty kissy face. "Oh Eds, so worried about me. Ha!" 

"Richie this is serious!" 

"Not as serious as me and your mom last ni—YyUAHGg—"

Richie slipped, the tiles of the roof coming off, and in one slick movement, he falls off the roof, all the other losers gasping.

"OH FUCK OH SHIT OH FUCK!" Richie can hear Eddie screaming, and a party of, "RICHIE!" And "OH NO!" Behind him as all the losers scurry outside. 

Richie lay in a bush, laughing so hard he didn't even know why. He was lucky that Ben lived in a one level house. 

Once they situated him inside, Eddie clung to his side, checking his body for broken bones, possible cuts, rusty nails, and internal bleeding. He held Richie's hand, tight in his grasps, obviously still a little on edge after what happened. 

Richie didn't get it, he didn't get hurt or anything. He landed in a bush for Christ's sakes, why was Eddie being a over baring mother? Not that Richie complained. 

Richie sure as fucking hell wasnt complaining at all. He'd fall off all the roofs in town if it meant Eddie would hold his hand like this. 

They go back to playing, this time slowing the roll a little, Richie isn't surprised when Stan chooses truth. 

"truth again? Lame!" 

The other boy rolls his eyes, waiting for the question. 

Richie thought it over, not taking as long to come up with this question, "Have you ever peed yourself? Like peed on yourself, recently like not when you were a kid." 

There is a moment of silence, everyone staring at Stan. Richie wanted to make sure he regretted not choosing Dare like everyone else. 

Then there is a whisper of "yes." 

Delighted, Richie rambles, "what? Holy shit really?? When?"

"You only get one question!" 

"Commoooon it's part of the question though! It's like a packaged deal!" 

Everyone looks expectantly, as Stan moves to fiddle his thumbs, avoiding eye contact with everyone. "I. Uh." 

"What? Common say it!"

"Pennywise." He spoke, voice teetering between fear and anger. 

Everyone stops breathing. Hearing that name, it was like being hit by a bus. The sound of still fresh. It has been almost 3 months since. 

It was world changing. But really, it didn't change much. They would have to go to high school soon, and pretend to live normal lives. Pretend to be normal kids, even though they killed a murderous demon space clown. There was no such thing as normal after that. 

"I did to" Bill says, almost in support of Stan. "Down in the sewers." 

"Well technically that's where it's supposed to be anyway, so no real harm done." Richie offers, hearing only a few of them snicker, but it's not enough. It's still quiet, not as lively as it's supposed to be. 

"I still check under my bed sometimes." Beverly whispers. And this was it, they were going to do this. They had avoided talking about it for this long, but finally they would talk about pennywise for the first time. 

"I've been paranoid." Ben announces, shifting in his spot, "I always feel like maybe something or someone is following me, I look behind my back, check the closet and bathroom before I can go to sleep." 

"Sometimes I can't even sleep." Stan mumbles, laying down, obviously tired. Not physically but psychologically. 

"Sometimes I freak out when my parents knock on my door." Bill says, "I'm jump, get easily startled by it." 

"I get afraid when I pass sewer drains." Mike offers lament, feeling shame for even saying it. 

"During thunderstorms I have panic attacks." Eddie adds in, its so quiet, and almost broken. "I really fucking hate him." 

Everyone makes agreeing noises, nodding their heads. 

"I still hate clowns." Richie pipes in, and everyone laughs. Good. That's way better then moping around. 

It was hard, it's still hard living in this damn town. He might be gone. But his presence will always remain, it will torment, floating over their heads with constant fear and paranoia. 

But he couldn't take away their love for each other. Their bravery. Their power together.   
That's all that mattered in the end.   
_________________

"Okay then let's just play never have I ever." Mike offers the group after they've all gotten comfortable in Ben's living room, the tv illuminating them with a blue hue. 

Beverley has a bowl of popcorn between her and Eddie, Mike has a bag of chips, Bill with another flavor, while Ben looks over his movie collection to put into the VCR. 

Stan sits next to Richie, handing him a can of soda, while he himself drinks a glass of water. 

"Alright I-I'll go first th-then." Bill announces, laying back on the love seat, reaching over Eddie to steal some popcorn. 

Everyone puts up five fingers. 

"Never have I e-ever, gotten de-detention." 

Beverley and Richie groan, putting down their fingers. A shy smile splayed on Bill's face. It wasn't their fault everyone else in the group were goodie goodies.

"Never have I ever had a stutter!" Richie counters, causing Bill to fake a gasp, and put down one of his fingers. 

"Richie that's not how you play, you have to try and get as many people as possible." Eddie bites out, why is he defending Bill? It was just a joke! 

Ben butt's in before they can start arguing. "Never have I ever fallen asleep in the car." 

"What?" Stan asks, as everyone but Ben put their fingers down. "How the hell haven't you fallen asleep in a car?" Mike questioned. 

Ben just shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, "guess I've just never been on a long enough car ride?" 

"Okay okay, my turn!" Beverley chirps, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth before saying, "never have I ever had a penis!" 

"Wow, low blow Bev." Richie laughs, as everyone puts their fingers down. "What? It's my best tactic!" She laughs, stretching over top Eddie. 

"All your 'never have I ever's' better not be related to being a girl or we will all lose." Stan says, laying back and resting his head on Ben. 

"Oh common, I won't keep pulling that cheap card. Have a little more faith in my creativity Stanley." She muses, and he just smiles back at her. 

"Okay okay, I got one." Eddie says, moving forward, pressing his thumb against his lip. 

"Never have I ever kissed someone." 

He looks to Beverley and Bill, waiting for them to put their fingers down, being slightly surprised to see Mike put a finger down as well. They all look at him surprised, he shrugs, chuckling lightly at their questioning eyes. 

"what? It was second grade." He began, popping open a soda can with a distinct 'tssst' 

"We were playing house, that's all. She was a very method actor!" He laughs, pressing his hand into his hair. 

Then Richie puts a finger down, and Eddie almost gapes. "Richie imaginary girls down fucking count." Eddie glares at him, obviously amused about the lie. But the thing was, it wasn't. 

"They weren't imaginary I tell you what." Richie offers, a sly smirk decorating his lips. "I've kissed two people actually, so suck on that Kasbrak." Richie sticks out his tongue, at the corner of his eye, he can see Beverley and Bill blushing just slightly. 

Eddie however still doesn't believe him. His cheeks puffed up and his lips get pouty. God that's so fucking cute. 

"Who was it?" He pressed on, arms crossed over his chest, obviously frustrated. 

"What? I don't have to tell you. I just have to put a finger down. But if you really want to know, I'm sure all you gotta do is ask your mom—"

"Shut up!" Eddie swears, lunging forward into Richie's space. It's like he needs a excuse to fight him, that he isn't satisfied until he can. They pull at each other's hair and ears, pinching at their sides and tugging on noses. It's a constant bubbling pot around each other. You either stir it, or let it boil over. 

It all depends on how willing you are to get burned. 

"While you love birds do that." Stan rolls his eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of the sockets. "Never have I ever missed a day of church." He announces, very proud of his constant timely routine he never breaks. 

"I see some of us brag about being lame." Richie begrudgingly putting down his last finger, that being his favorite, the middle. 

"Dang Richie loses first!" Mike announces, patting his back. 

"Does that mean something happens when he loses?" Eddie says, almost sadistically— too excited. 

"Well I also l-lost" Bill says, moving to sit next to Richie. No one had even noticed it, he could have gotten away with pretending he didn't lose, but he sat there by his side, knowing if Richie was going to be punished, so would he. It was comforting. 

"Why don't you just answer a truth?" Mike suggests, and Richie looks slightly panicked, "of course it has to apply to both of them!" He adds, knowing what ever question they'd ask Bill wouldn't 'out' Richie. Well that was at least the plan. 

"Fine" Eddie smiles, pure snark. "Who is the last person you kissed?" He oozes out pettiness, not even paying attention to Bill because he thinks the answer is obvious. It would be Beverley. Technically that would be the answer for both of them. But it wasn't. 

"I don't have to answer that." Richie counters, obviously fed up with everything, "we didn't agree on there being a punishment if someone lost." 

"That is true" Beverly quickly agrees, swooping in to save the day. Too bad Eddie wasn't having it. 

"Why what's wrong? If we did this to anyone else, you would be completely supporting this. Even instigating it." Richie can't deny this, because he knows it's true, "Bill we already know the answer for you, so Richie why can't you say it?" 

Bill looks away, cheeks flushed and Mike looks at him confused. 

"Eddie" Stan says, sounding clam and stoic, "Really we didn't agree to this. Just let it go." Thank god for Stan the Man.

Eddie turns to Stan, mouth agape, like he was betrayed. "What? I thought you of all people would support me on this??" Stan just shakes his head, not having a reasonable answer. 

Eddie groans, "What is wrong? Is she like gross and you're embarrassed, or is it like, she is 60 and it's illegal or some shit." 

"Why does it matter to you? What is this, a interrogation?" Richie twitches, moving to bite his finger nails, Stan swats his hands away from his mouth before he can however. Eddie eyes him, waiting. 

Here they are again, butting heads, always bickering. It's the same shit over and over. 

"Why does it matter to YOU to hide it from us?" 

"'Us'? It's only you who keeps asking! No one else even cares about this!"

"It's part of the game!"

"No it's not!" 

"Yes it is!" 

"Since when?" 

"Since now!"

"You can't just make up rules like that!" 

"Yes I can!"

"Why is that??"

"Because I said so!"

"What are you, the god of game rules??"

"Oh fuck you."

"No fuck you." 

"Fuck you more!" 

"Shut up Eddie!" 

"Shut up Richie." He mocks, using the same tone. 

"Fine! Fine, if it will get you to shut up I'll tell you!" Richie rubbed his temples, feeling like his brain might melt out of his ears. 

He turns to Bill, with questioning eyes, knowing he should get the consent of the other party before sharing something like this. 

Bill just gives him a slight shrug, with a very slow nod, and Richie holds his breath. 

"It was Bill. The last person I kissed was Bill." 

Mike and Ben seem slightly shocked by this, looking at Stan and Beverly confused as to why they didn't share the same reaction. 

They're eyes bug out of their heads just looking back and forth at Bill and Richie. 

Bill just shakes his head, confirming it wasn't anything like that. Just a kiss. They settle down a little. 

But what was really impressive, was the dead look on Eddie's face. He didn't react at all, his face completely still. But his eyes, they were another story. Disbelief, utter confusion, and disappointment? 

"Oh god Eddie please down tell me you are disgusted by that or some—"

"No." He says, hurried words, like he was just in a tragic storm. Finally nestled into the eye of the hurricane. "No I'm not. Like disgusted or anything I'm just—" he struggled for a word, the gears in his brain finally turning as he spoke, "surprised that's all. That was. I—" 

He coughs slightly, clearing his throat before turning to look at the ground, gazing away from everyone else. "I really didn't expect that." 

And then there is a steady silence. 

It's awkward and thick. The tension could strangle him. 

"W-w-well. It was just a experiment that's a-all." Bill finally speaks, bringing the attention back to himself. 

He looks at Richie. He didn't necessarily come out just yet, but there would be a hard way of explaining this without Eddie knowing. 

Richie doesn't want to look. He didn't think it would happen today. 

Could he do this? 

He looks around, feeling small under all of their collective stare. He shuts his eyes tight, his heartbeat feeling like a mantra of banging drums. The crows can no longer struggle, the tar so deeply soaked into their feathers. All they can do is sit there, and wait to die. 

"I just. I wanted to make sure. You know. Before I told Eddie. I wanted to be positive, that I liked boys." The dime drops. He said it. And now he can't get the motor on his mouth to stop. 

With the help of Beverley, they explain everything, mostly to Eddie. The situation with his parents, coming out to Stan, then Beverley. Finally coming out at the lake. Him and Bev kissing. 

(Which made Ben look like he wanted to throw himself off a bridge. Cause great. His gay best-friend got to kiss the girl he loved, before him. Richie wished he could just tell him in that moment, "it's not the first kiss that matters. It's who gets the last.")

Then the kiss between him and Bill, though Richie leaves out the details that Bill might also swing that way a little bit as well. 

And the whole time. Eddie sits there. His eyes relay strong hurt feelings. 

“So that’s what it was.” Eddie whispers, still not able to bring himself to make any eye contact with anyone. But understanding floods his features in a way no one else had before. 

“I understand why you were so scared to tell me.” His voice is slightly rough, when he finally moves his gaze. 

It’s piercing. He only looks at Richie. Never breaks the contact as he peers into his soul.   
He looks sad. Richie hates that. 

“It hurts though.” He struggles out, “that you couldn’t trust me.” 

And then it happens, a few tears well up at the side of his eyes, and Richie can feel his heart shatter. 

“You know I would always love you right? No matter what. You fucking idiot” Eddie’s comment doesn’t have its usual bite however, he sniffs, wiping his cheeks. 

“I’d never hate you.” 

His words, laced with open promises. Richie can’t do anything but sit there, still, like he was waiting for the world to crumble down on him any second. Tell him it was a joke. That no real happiness was achievable. 

The way he is looking at Richie. It’s painted with a policy of sank ships, A crow who gets the strength to keep fighting. It’s all he needs. It’s all he would ever need for the rest of his life. 

Acceptance.   
______________________

Richie checks the clock, 2:34am. They all really needed to get to bed. 

Bill is snuggled into the couch with Stan and Mike. Ben is fast asleep on the love-seat. 

Richie grins at the opportunity, moving to smack the back of their heads to get them up. 

Eddie is near him, making his skin prickle. “You guys wake up.” Eddie says for Richie, moving to stand beside him, with a much more gentle approach, shaking them lightly. “If you sleep like that, you could get neck problems, or back problems. Which could leads to worsening issues, like your bones developing wrong, or some type of arthritis.” 

Mike groans, getting up and patting Eddie’s head. “Alright, you don’t need to get all doctor on us.” He grumbles, Stan and Ben getting up next. 

Bill however looks completely wiped out. They all collectively work together to pick him up, and take him to Ben’s room, where their sleeping backs are set up. 

Everyone gets into their spots on the floor, with Beverley getting Ben’s bed. 

Slowly, they all begin to settle down, “I want someone to cuddle.” Beverley complains, getting everyone’s attention. She makes a grabbing motion with her hands, beckoning one of them to join her. 

“Riiiiichhh.” It seems she has chosen her prisoner. 

He laughs slightly, unzipping his bag, and shuffling to get up. Eddie previously having been next to him, looks slightly disappointed. But he says nothing. 

Richie settles into the blankets, as Beverley lays her head on his chest. It’s relaxing. The dark room lulling him to drift off.   
____________________

Richie runs out of the arcade looking anywhere to go, anywhere besides that stupid place. All he wanted was to play street fighter. He makes it to the town center, the park. And before him stands the symbol of masculinity; a giant, ax-swinging Paul Bunyan, looming 20 feet over him. He was tiny in comparison.

Was he less of a man because of what he was? What even was he? 

The statue, In his flannel and denim, he's a stark contrast to Richie's blue and pink swirled button-up shirt. A American folk hero. 

And what was Richie? Just some faggot apparently. The word was bitter, sour even. The word had never made him feel this way before. It never effected him like this. Because it had never been so real. 

The voices of the other kids ring through his head. He didn’t know much about it. But he knew from the rumors that maybe it means he might get AIDS. It worries him. He thinks it over, does that even make logical sense? Of course not, you can’t get AIDS just by being gay. Or could you..? No. No you couldn’t. No matter what at least he would have logic on his side. 

And then, the statue moves. 

“AH! FUCK! Oh. No. Fuck.” Richie is sweaty. Body shaking, his voice trembling as he shoots up from Ben’s bed. This was normal, waking up to a nightmare. His body feeling exhausted and broken afterwards. His eyes red and teeth clenched. 

What wasn’t normal, was all the eyes on him, most of the losers having woken up by his outburst. He feels sick. 

A hand rubs his back, in calming circles. It’s Beverly. He tries his best to ground himself in reality again. 

No one questions what it is. What he was dreaming about. Because they all knew. Most of them probably had to the same kind of nightmare. 

Beverly suddenly scoots over, to the side of the bed, making room, and Richie looks at her questioning, about to voice his confusion. 

And then on the other side of him, he can feel the bed dip. The weight of another person pressing into the mistress, and then into his body. 

He doesn’t even need to look to know who it is. His touch is electrifying, and his smell is like a safety blanket. 

Richie turns around, to face Eddie, pressing into him with no shame, shoving his face between to crook of his shoulder and neck, inhaling his scent. Their legs tangle up together, and Richie can feel Eddie’s heart beat. It’s a relaxing melody. 

Eddie combs a hand through his hair, holding him tight the way he would when Richie would run away from home, just for a day, and then cry into Eddie’s shirt. Wrapped in his arms, feeling protected and safe. 

They hold each other tight, desperately knowing they need each other. And Richie doesn’t let go.   
________________________

It’s morning when Richie finally wakes up, the comfortable weight of Eddie on his chest causing him to crack a big dopey smile. 

Eddie was still willing to touch him, to hold and comfort him even after he knew those things about Richie. 

He just can’t help but grin, moving to leave a ginger kiss on his temple, and nuzzle into him even more. He was warm, and soft. And everything to Richie. 

Slowly, he looks around the room, and realizes everyone was gone. Even Beverley. He stills for a moment, and can hear chatter in the kitchen. It takes him a moment to realizes that everyone had woken up before them, meaning they had seen Eddie wrapped in his arms. Face buried in his chest, limbs tangled together. Breathing in sync with one another. Gripping each other possessively.

And it just makes him smile. 

Good. He didn’t mind that at all. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	8. Street Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finally wants to spend some time with Richie.

"Alright see you later today, Bev." Ben waved off the rest of the group, whom all got ready to head home, needing to quickly get things done before meeting up at the movie theater. Ben politely holding the door open, as each person got situated on their bikes. 

It is about midday, Stan needing to get back sooner then everyone else, church being a priority at the moment because his father expects it of him. It's around that time that he's coming to age, needing to take his faith more seriously or something like that. Richie is happy that at least his parents aren't very religious, they'd only ever take him to church to keep up with appearances. But their reputation as the drunk family wouldn't change just from a few Sundays spent pretending to worship god. 

Beverley needs to get home to her father, he already having allowed her to spend the night with a bunch of boys, she can't really push the envelope any further and just counted her blessing. Her relationship with him already on the rocks. Richie remembered her telling him, about what she did in the bathroom right before Pennywise got her. He had gotten a concussion from the blow to the head, but miraculously didn't remember anything that happened because of it. She was constantly afraid one day he might remember and take his anger out on her. Richie promised he would do everything in his power to protect her if anything like that were to happen. So now, all she would have to do, is spend a few hours with her old man before he inevitably passes out on the couch like always. She waves at Ben, sending him a sweet smile and blowing a kiss goodbye. If the flush on his cheeks are any indication, he is very appreciative of the gesture. 

On a much better note, Bill had a therapy appointment, it was just later that day. Still he liked preparing himself, writing down what he wanted to talk about before hand. Probably all the losers club needed therapy, but Bill's parents were most likely the only adults who would support something like that. After loosing Georgie, his entire family started going. It made sense. Bill still wasn't over it. Richie didn't think he would ever be. Loosing your little brother, he wouldn't know how to cope. 

Mike, being the last to leave that morning, needing to finish some chores on the farm. He hated it, all he ever wanted to do was be surrounded by books. To become smarter, rather then more brute. But he didn't want to let down his uncle or his grandmother. The idea of disappointing others was more daunting then doing something he despised. He was probably the most mature out of them all. Growing up faster then need be. None of them wanted to grow up. But sometimes trauma forces you to before you're ready. 

Once Ben shut the front door, he turned to Eddie, helping him look through his records to find something for him to listen to while he did some more research. 

Richie didn't really understand why Ben would go to the library and check out books. School was OUT why spend more time doing shit like reading when you could jack off or do something actually fun. 

He even voiced this to Ben on many occasions, which he was just answered with eye rolls or shrugs. Ben was never one to argue with him, Richie already did it enough with everyone else. 

He watched, letting his eyes move from Ben, to linger over Eddie's neck and chin, watching how the curve of his lips would tighten when he would considerate, and the way his chestnut brown hair contour the profile of his face. The rosiness on the ends of his ears and nose, and the freckles that dusted each cheek. He was more beautiful then words could explain. 

It was like a orchestra of the continuous strumming in his heart. He welcomed it for once. It was a foreign thing to do, the shame he usually feels lessening each second that goes by. He thinks, how in the world could feeling this way be bad? Eddie's lips turn up into a smile, it's melts Richie's insides, his chest tightens, it's so much but not enough at the same time. No matter what, these feelings were addictive, wether if it be disgusting, or beautiful. Those details didn't matter. 

He takes his mind off of it for a moment, looking down. 

He didn't even realize the entire time he was picking at the scab on his arm, it's throbbing, and aching, and begging him to stop. He grits his teeth, but he can not. He can't stand the constant reminder of that cigarette burn. He wants it gone. Off his skin. To scratch it away with all the other scars left on his thighs. He squeezes his eyes shut, tight, hoping that no light can leak in through his eye lids. To let the darkness consume him. Hoping to block out everything in the world. And just fade away. 

And for a moment, he thinks it worked. But he is pulled out just as quickly as he went in. 

"Richie, you and me should hang out today, catch up while everyone else is doing their own thing." His voice, is cheerful, and tender. Suddenly Richie's world isn't void. It's full, and over flowing. Filling his senses with—

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

"Yeah. Of course dude." It's not even a question. He'd say yes to anything as long as Eddie asked. 

His eyes crack open, allowing his gaze to rest on Eddie, who was standing in front of him, hip cocked to the side, a hand resting on it. He wasn't wearing his fanny-pack today. Slowly, he was trying to wean off of it, only wearing it on days he felt anxious. It was symbolic of not letting his mother have control over him any more. 

Richie guessed today was a good day. 

"Alright good. Let's go then." Eddie announced, grabbing Richie's hand and lacing their fingers together, before waving goodbye to Ben, and making their way to the bikes.  
____________________

"Riiiicheeeee", Eddie slumped over, head falling to the side, making himself heavy and unmovable. He whined in that adorable way he does, hand tightening on Richie's, pulling him towards the arcade.

Still Richie fought it, hesitating to follow. 

It had been a while since Richie had gone there. He knew it was safe, but the looks some of the boys would give him while he was in there was enough to cause paranoia. He hated how it felt, their eyes on him, judging him. Hating him for something that was actually true. It made him feel sick. 

"Eds you seriously don't have to. I know you don't like playing." Eddie 'tut' at him, annoyance prickling his features, as he turns to glare at Richie. "I do like playing. I just don't like losing." 

"Same thing." Richie comments, a snarky smirk playing on his lips. 

"What? I win sometimes!" Eddie played offended, pulling him to the front entrance of the arcade. 

"Yeah when you aren't playing against me. Don't go crying to your mommy, when I beat you to a pulp." 

Eddie sticks out his tongue, scrunching up his face, before breaking into the most breathtaking smile. 

Richie can't help the grin that illuminates over his cheeks, in response. 

When they get inside the dark arena, it's basically vacant, only a few kids scattered about playing different games. That didn't matter though. 

His eyes scan around the room, soon met with the wonderful sight that no one is on Street Fighter. It's empty, just practically beckoning him to click on Ryu's avatar and start kicking ass. 

He feels his feet leading them over, a now eagerness in his step, he forgot how excited he got when he is able to play. 

Eddie goes over to the coin machine, putting in a few bucks to get some tokens. Which, very much surprised Richie, Eddie never payed for the games before. Maybe he has extra money on him this week. 

Eddie settles next to Richie's right side, first quickly cleaning the console and joy stick with a disinfectant wipe, (he has a pack on his person at all times.) before moving to push in a coin, and press start. 

Richie simply watched, knowing making fun of him wouldn't stop anything. But really, it was because he adored these small quirks about him. He knew Eddie only did it because he didn't want Richie to get sick either. He thought it was sweet. Though, Eddie didn't need to know that. 

Their shoulders press flushed together, as they quickly pick their characters, Richie peers at Eddie's side of the screen. "What? You are picking a girl?" He mocks, throwing a arm around his shoulder. "Lame." 

Eddie blushed, glaring at Richie with a unamused look. "First off. Girls are not lame. You should know that. Bev could drop kick you." Well he wasn't wrong. "And second, Chun-Li, has the best combos." 

Richie's eyebrows fly up, shocked. "Wow okay, I didn't know you knew that." 

"I might have been practicing." Eddie whispers, sly and confident. A spark flares up in Richie's stomach. He's been practicing Richie's favorite game in particular? 

"Oh really? Why's that?" 

"I don't need to tell you." Eddie answers, his tone sounding final. Richie shrugs it off, knowing he can question him about it later. 

So, he finally just presses start as well, and they began fighting. Of course Richie would use his regular techniques for cheating as always. Hip-checking Eddie, pushing him with his shoulder, reaching over to tickle his sides. 

It was his favorite part of the game. You'd be force to be so close to the other person. And when Eddie would giggle, it would be right in his ear. 

He liked looking over to see Eddie biting his bottom lip, as his eyes flick quickly between the buttons under his fingers, to the screen. Getting the combos perfect every time. 

Richie for once had to actually try, continuing to tickle and poke the other boy, but even with all that. For the first time ever, Eddie actually won. 

"Holy shit—"

"Suck on that trash mouth. Your ass got destroyed!" 

"Well gag me with a spoon. Eddie spaghetti can actually hold his own. That is of course," he paused, leaning down to Eddie's eye level, "because I let you win." 

Eddie shoved at his side, "what!" He pipped up, red creeping up his neck, "no you fucking didn't. I won fair and square." 

"Sure you did Eds." Richie grinned, watching the anger rise up in Eddie's eyes. 

"Don't call me Eds. You know I hate that!" 

"Yeah, yeah. I know." But he knew Eddie didn't. Because it always made his lips twitch up, just slightly, before he would hide it. 

"Well if you aren't convinced then rematch." He countered, putting in the next coin before Richie could even answer. 

By the time they were meant to meet up with the other losers, Eddie had won 7 out of 12 games. Proudly sauntering out of the arcade with a wide grin that split his face. Richie following closely behind, fond admiration building up in his chest.  
____________________

'The Princess Bride' was what Beverley picked this time, it was a rerun, she was absolutely shocked to know that not a single member of the losers club had ever watched it. 

"Oh come on, it sounds like a gross kissy kissy romance movie. Why can't we watch Die Hard?" Richie complained for the fifth time as they made it to the front of the line, paying for two seats to the movie, waiting for the bored teenager behind the counter to pass them their tickets. They pass the concession stand, trying to ignore the wafting smell of popcorn. 

"Trust me Rich. It's way more then that. I actually think you'll enjoy it more then anyone else." She smiles, in that way she does when she genuinely means something. 

"I doubt it." He groans, taking off his glasses to clean the lenses. 

"How about this." She says, walking down one of the the halls to the back entrance, looking around. "I'll even make a bet." 

Richie perks up at that. "Oh really?" 

She grins, knowing she had already basically won. "Yeah."

"Five bucks."

"Make it Ten." 

"Oh someones confident." 

"I always am Rich." And as she pushed open the door, she winked at him, before whistling softly to signal the others. 

She reached out her hand, and he reached out his, before they shook on it. 

"Deal."

"Deal."

"What kinda deal is happening?" Ben asks, being the first to enter the door, looking around to make sure they wouldn't be spotted.

"Oh it's nothing haystack. Just know I'll be Ten dollars wealthier in a few hours." 

Ben turned to look at Beverly, seeing her smugly shake her head. And Richie quickly knew who's side Ben was on. 

Stan pushes through the doors next, Mike tailing him close behind. 

Following them, Bill has to physically pull Eddie in, holding his hand to calm him down. "W-w-we ar-aren't going to be caught." He tried to sooth the boy, only for Eddie to profusely shake his head. 

Stan shuts the door behind them when they enter. "H-hey." Bill tried again, forcing Eddie to look at him. "I promise." 

A quick moment passes and Eddie almost seems to physically relax at his words.  
Oh the power of Bill Denbrough. 

Richie moves to his regular spot, standing between Stan and Eddie, pressing into Eddie's side as they all walk to theatre 7. "Oh the princess bride!" Mike says, looking up at the title above the door, "I've been wanting to watch this for so long!" He says, him and Beverly gripping onto each other in excitement. 

"Finally! Someone appreciates my movie chooses." 

"Is it a romance?" Ben asks, in a hushed tone as they enter the theatre. "Kinda." Beverly answers, moving to sit next to Ben, and he smiles. "Cool. I like. Uh. I like romance." He stumbled over his words in clumsy attempt to be smooth. It works though, cause she giggles softly, "me too." 

They really sucked at flirting. 

Richie sits between Stan and Eddie, Bill sitting next to Stan, and Mike next to Ben. 

Richie's eyes slowly adjust to the dark as a few trailers play. He feels happy. Truly. surrounded by his family. Ready to just be a regular kid for a few hours, and forget everything. No matter how cheesy this movie might end up being. 

And then his heart shoots up into his throat. He swears it wasn't him who reached first, but he also doesn't pull away when Eddie laces their fingers together. 

It takes a little bit for Richie to concentrate on anything other then BREATHE, but luckily he is able to focus once the movie starts.  
_____________________

"Here." Richie gives Beverley ten dollars, albeit begrudgingly. She beams at him, the all knowing look she gives him just rubs salt in the wound. 

"Don't act so smug. You are just lucky Cary Elwes is surprisingly hot." 

"Don't lie to her. You laughed the entire time." Stan slapped Richie's shoulder, almost pushing him over. Jesus Christ since when did he get so strong. 

"True. But it's not a lie. I'd fucking die for Wesley." 

"Oh I would too." Beverley says, voice dreamy as the group walks out the exit they had used to enter. The sun is so damn bright Richie felt like he was being slapped in the face with a possible migraine, moving to bring a hand up over his squinting eyes. 

"I agree." Eddie say from behind them, and Richie thinks he misunderstood. 

"Sorry. Can you repeat that?" 

"I said I agree with you and Beverley." 

A beat passes, and Richie still doesn't get it. 

"Elaborate." 

"Huh, didn't think you knew any vocabulary past second grade level." 

"Answer the question dickwad." 

"What? I just agree. Wesley is very attractive." 

They all barely make it behind the building when Richie zips around, looking at Eddie skeptical. 

"Attractive as in like, 'I can acknowledge a man is good looking' kinda of way, or a 'I'd totally bone that dude.' Kinda way?" 

Everyone else looks to Eddie, each also slightly surprised at the statement, and curious to the answer. 

Eddie flushes at the attention, becoming less confident as each second passes. "In a. He is cute, kind of way." He is quiet, sounding almost hesitant. 

If Richie was some type of robot, he would most likely be malfunctioning right now, trying to process Eddie's words. 

He can feel everyone now shift their attention to him as well, they are all silent, all most likely collectively thinking the same thing. Oh shit. 

He watches Eddie shuffle, eyes glued to the ground under his feet, shifting his weight as he thinks over his words carefully. 

And then he just says it. No second guessing, no vomiting, no mental breakdown. 

Richie always knew Eddie was the bravest of them all, he had the most fears to face. And faced them regularly. He always knew Eddie was braver then him most of all. And everyday he would be surprised more and more by how much his bravery would extend. 

"I think I. I think I'm also. You know. What Richie is." 

What Richie is. 

It's vague, vague enough for Richie to let the words reel in his head over and over, trying to annualize it. The wheels in his head not turning fast enough, because he just stands there, staring at Eddie like some dopey idiot. 

Beverley moves first, reaching out to Eddie and hugging him, obviously understanding it better then Richie. "Oh! Well. Okay. That's great news Eddie. Thank you for telling us." She smiles, carding a hand through his hair, as the others soon move as well, crowding around him, offering him words for support and praise. 

Richie, however is frozen. He doesn't think he could ever move from his spot. He makes peace with the fact that he might die there, just standing, mind running a mile a minute. 

Eddie. Was. Gay. Well maybe gay. But, he does think he is. And that means. Richie has a greater chance. Chance at what exactly? 

He hadn't even thought that far ahead. He didn't even think it would have been a feasible possibility. What did he want them to be? What was Eddie to him. What did he want to be to Eddie? 

And would Eddie even feel the same way. How would that even work? Could it even work? Did Eddie want that? Did Richie even want that? 

His chest felt like it was constricting on itself. 

"I wouldn't have been able to do it. If it wasn't for Richie doing it first. He gave me the courage." Eddie says to Stan, eyes glancing to look at Richie, a hopeful sound to his words. Hopeful. Hopeful for what? Richie felt like his world was spinning. 

He nods his head, not making an effort to speak let alone even move. Bill gives him a worried look. 

Say something. Say something you idiot. 

"That's cool." Wow. Great job. 

Eddie seems to frown at this. "What's wrong?"

Answer him. Just say anything. 

Answer him, he is waiting! 

"Uh. Well. Okay. I got to go." That was even worse. 

Yet Richie still turns, obviously not in control of his body, as he begins practically bolting to god knows where. All he knows is, get away, get away, get away. 

This was it. This was the scariest thing he could imagine. More scary then pennywise. More frightening then werewolves or clowns. More scary then possibly dying. 

Facing his feelings. 

He can hear a pair of feet chasing after him, quick and determined. Richie thinks it's Beverley or maybe Bill, but when he makes it to another alley, ducting behind a dumpster and slumping into a brick wall, he quickly realizes it's Eddie when he hears the sound of a inhaler. 

He turns around, heart beating against his chest, ready to leap out of his ribs and into Eddie's hands. 

But instead Eddie looks furious, and Richie doesn't know how to handle that right now. 

"What the fuck Rich?" Eddie question, barely taking the time to catch his own breath, voice on the edge of venom and heartbroken. 

"I-" 

"No, seriously, what the fuck? Why the hell would you just run away?" His brows are knitted together, as he worries his lip, gesturing wildly around his head. "What are you really disgusted by me that bad?" He spits out, his voice shaking when saying it. 

Disgusted? 

No of course not. 

"What? No?" Richie spills out, confusion replacing fear. No, of fucking course he wasn't disgusted, why the hell would Eddie think that. 

"Well, how else am I supposed to interpret that? I tell you I'm gay, and you act like I'm the plague! I thought you of all people would be understanding." Eddie practically yells, looking just as confused as him.

"I am!" Richie steps closer, but Eddie takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest protectively, anger just bubbling inside him. 

But he isn't screaming like Richie thought. He was crying. 

Just slightly, but he could see the dampness of his cheeks, and the wetness of his eyes. 

Richie feels like he has been punched in the gut. 

"I don't get it. I thought you wouldn't judge me for this?" Eddie's voice suddenly doesn't have the same fire to it, like before. 

Somehow. The raven maracously frees itself from the tar pit.

And it finds it's way out of Richie's stomach, and through his teeth. 

"I am in love with you." 

Eddie quickly shuts up. 

And there isn't any alarm to wake him up. There isn't any reset button he can press, and use to avoid all this. This was real life. 

And something about that, was comforting. 

"What...?" Eddie whispers, not moving this time when Richie steps closer to him. 

Be brave Richie. 

He practically vomits out information, rambling like some senile old woman. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't even really well thought out. 

It was a mess, and clumsy, and just Richie being Richie. 

"I fell on love with you when I was 8. I think at least. Who the fuck knows. But I'm pretty sure that's when." He doesn't let Eddie cut in, he wasn't done yet. 

"I saw you trip over a trash can. Right in front of the school's entrance, you fell directly into it head first, and sputtered off some non-coherent mess about bacteria while screaming your little head off, and people gathered around to laugh at you. I remember thinking. Ha! That kid is pathetic." Eddie frowns, and Richie notes that he really needs to develop some type of filter sooner or later. 

"but." He continues, "when you finally got yourself out of the trash. You didn't even give a seconds glance at anyone laughing, just started rubbing hand sanitizer all over your arms and face like you were having some juttery seizure. You didn't give a single fuck. And I thought. I wish I could do that." 

Richie quickly sucks in a breath, not taking too long before continuing. "And when you finally realized everyone was laughing at you. It was fucking insane. You just, simply raised your middle finger to each and everyone of them and called them all, "A group of degenerate dick wads." Let me tell you. When I say I laughed, I mean I fucking lost it, and I smiled the rest of the way home that day. Knowing that. I needed to be friends with that boy." 

"I didn't know you saw that." Eddie breathed out, stepping closer himself this time, putting a mere few inches between them. 

"I didn't even meet you until—" 

"The next day." Richie finished for him, watching Eddie's eyes light up at the memory. 

The morning after, everyone at the school started calling Eddie some lame nickname like, trash boy, and Richie would notice how his eyebrows would knit together, and how his eyes would darken with embarrassesment and sadness, everytime he would pass him in the hall. and it made his chest hurt for some reason. 

He didn't know what possessed him but after school finished he went to that exact same garbage can Eddie had fallen into. 

And he grabbed the first fist full of a few pieces of old wrappers and paper, and shoved it into his mouth, loudly making munching noises as everyone surround him. Obviously their first reaction was to start laughing about him literally eating trash. He saw Eddie, in the corner of his eye, absolutely disgusted, as he was passing by. It made him feel disappointed, and worried even, that Eddie might not be his friend. 

But it was worth it in the end, because no one talked about trash boy after that, not once, and instead it was Richie, the Trash Mouth. 

Richie steps closer, closing the gap between them and resting his hands on Eddie's sides, feeling the other boy shiver. 

"I thought you were called trash mouth because you curse so damn much?" Eddie whispered, tone now slightly playful, yet breathless at the same time. 

"Well when we made it to middle school I made sure to change my street cred—"

"What street cred?—"

"I just have such a fucking potty mouth and curse so often that, people now just assume that's how I got the nickname. I never corrected anyone" 

"You did that..? For me?" Eddie stares into Richie's eyes, and he can feel his pulse quicken. "You ate fucking trash and endured a whole fucking nickname just so I wouldn't be bullied for more then a day?" 

"Of course I did." Richie answer, laughing softly, like it was obvious. 

"...why?" Eddie speaks so quietly that Richie almost doesn't catch it. 

"Because it's you." 

And then, there is a wordless conversation that happens between them, as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

But it still surprises Richie when Eddie leans forward, brushing a soft kiss onto his lips. 

Richie thinks, maybe he would be used to the feeling, having already kissed two other people. 

No amount of anything could have prepared him for the absolute full body take over of a experience it is. Kissing Eddie, was like being punched in the back of his eyeballs with fireworks. Sparks spraying everywhere, lighting everything in its path on fire. And god did he welcome it. 

Sure the location wasn’t very ideal, a dumpster just next to them, and a puddle under his food as dirty water dripped from the side of a fire escape just behind them. It was damp, and smelled, and was kind of gross. 

But not a single thing about any of that even mattered when he surged forward awkwardly pressing his lips even harder into Eddie’s, feeling their teeth clash, and their noses jam together. 

He places a hand on Eddie’s cheek, cupping it, finally managing to tilt his head enough to find a good position to move his lips. 

He didn’t even care that it was kind of weird, trying to figure out if he should suck, or put his tongue in, or how much lip movement was appropriate. Because it felt good. 

It reeeaaally felt good. 

He didn’t even know how to explain it. And he didn’t even want to. 

His eyes flutter open just slightly, to look at Eddie, noticing his eyes are shut tightly, and oh. He didn’t even realize Eddie’s hands were on his shoulders, gripping so hard, like he might die if he didn’t hold on tight. Eddie was just following Richie’s lead, mimicking all the same lip movement Richie would make, and it made his heart surge into a chant of, CUTE CUTE CUUUTE!

And after a bit longer, when they pull apart, breathing heavy, because neither of them thought to breath out of their noses while kissing, they just stare at each other. Eddie’s cheeks are a dark red, Richie knows his must be too. 

For a moment they don’t move. Just searching each other’s expression, trying to find what to say, and how to say it. Then, they start laughing, but not the in the same way Richie did with Beverly. It was like they were relieved, happy to know the world didn’t crumble around them. 

That nothing was ruined, that they were still Eddie and Richie. 

Just a new version, the version that kisses each other in dark alleyways, and then hold each other’s hands afterwards. 

Richie felt like he was coming down from a high, like he had just won the lottery. What was nerve racking however, was that Eddie knew Richie was in love with him. But Richie didn’t know how Eddie felt. 

Neither of them spoke about it afterwards though, they just simply walked back to the group, who all collectively look absolutely frightened that they might have beaten each other up. 

They relaxed however when they noticed the two of them with their fingers interlocked. 

Richie knew he had many questions for Eddie the next time they would be alone. That they had probably a lot to talk about, and Eddie probably had just as many questions. 

And he still didn’t even know fully, if Eddie felt the same way. But at least he could be sure that Eddie didn’t hate him. 

Well he couldn’t really be sure of course. 

But he knew well enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We getting close to the end for the first section of them being kids! Next will be teenagers. Hope you guys will enjoy it.


	9. Take It Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting over internalized homophobia doesn’t happen over night.

Richie's earliest memory, was he thinks, his mom and his dad taking him to the playground during December. It was some random day, before Christmas, he can't remember how old he was, or if he could even talk by then. But he did remember, the way it was so cold, that no other kids were at the park but him. 

He had just gotten back from the dentist. He was told how lucky he was that his father was his own doctor. But he didn't really know, his gums still hurt, and he still didn't like it there.

So they took him to the park, as a reward.

The sun felt nice, but he couldn't enjoy it fully, because his nose felt like it might freeze off, and the air that escaped his lips would be steamy. He kind of liked the effect though, made him feel like he was smoking, trying desperately to mimic his parents. 

His tiny hand was being held by his mother's, he was wearing a winter coat that was far too big on him, and she was in some kind of sweater. It looked itchy and uncomfortable. He reached out and ran his hand over the material to see. It was. 

But most of all, he distinctly remembers how his mom looked with the sun peaking through her hair, like little strands of light sculpting her face. She smiled at him and lifted him up to the slide, letting him sit on the cold metal. 

He gripped her hand tight, scared he might get hurt, but she just pressed a kiss to his chin, and pushed him down. 

In retrospect, going down a 3 foot slide should be by all means, safe. But Richie had absolutely freaked out, and stuck his feet out, causing him to jam his heals into the bottom of the slide and flip out of it, landing on his face in the wood chips. 

He could hear his mother and father quickly run up to him, his dads strong arms lifting him off the ground. They both looked at him with worried eyes, looking over his small frame for possible injuries. 

They watched him, waiting, then, he smiled. Big, wide, lopsided and goofy. 

"I want to do it again!" He laughed hard, causing his tiny body to bounce. 

And the worried expression on his parents faces were replaced with amusement just as quickly, until they were also laughing, heads falling back. They walked him back over to the slide, placing him down again. 

The second time he was able to get it right, he clapped, proud with himself. 

And when they smiled at him, Richie thought that, that is what love looked like. 

His prospective on life definitely changed over the years however. 

Richie sat in his room, having previously cleaned it up a bit yesterday, because he knew he would have company. He shoved his now growing collection of Play Girl magazines under his mattress, his cheeks flushed with the distant memory of how he was able acquire them. 

“So you are getting this for your girlfriend?” The guy asked, looking Richie up and down as if he didn’t believe some awkward, scrawny, coke bottle glasses kid could ever get a girl. 

“Yeah. We are trying to spice it up a bit. You know how it is with the ladies, always looking for more ya know?” Richie gapes, rubbing the back of his neck and trying his best to avoid eye contact. The dude was in his early 20’s probably, and only agreed the get Richie the magazines from the store if he gave him a few extra bucks. 

The guy eyebrows raised slightly, and he let out a laugh of disbelief. “Jesus, kids these days.” But none the less, the guy got Richie the magazines, these ones. A lot more. Graphic. 

He was curious, and it wasn’t like he could get any other jack off material from anywhere else. Thinking about Eddie’s legs can only get you so far. 

The guy hands him over, Richie’s now prized homoerotic laminated spank bank, and watches Richie, with a questioning gaze, like he was trying to connect the dots. Instead, he says, “you owe me for what I had to pay.” 

Richie frowns, “dude what do you think? I got a million bucks?” 

“It was 3.49$ pay up kid or your girlfriend isn’t gonna get her mags.” 

Richie groaned, reaching into his pocket and getting the last of his money. Whatever. In the end. It would be worth it. And as the guy walked away, Richie glared daggers at the back of his head. If Richie did have a million bucks, he’d have his army of deer trample that guy to death.   
___________________

It would be a week until school would have to start: and two weeks after his first kiss with Eddie. It wasn’t like he was counting or anything, but he was pretty sure, it would also be his last at this rate. 

In a ironic turn of events, Eddie was the one avoiding Richie like he had small pox. 

It made him worry, but that was a understatement. He cried and complained to Stan and Beverley, his babbling was incoherent, and all they did was roll their eyes, assuring him everything would be okay. 

Today, he would test that theory. Because Eddie was coming over, finally coming over. He had used the excuse that he was sick to avoid everyone, but you can only hide for so long from the losers before someone calls you out. That person was Stan, yelling at Eddie, quote: “I don’t care if this is some weird gay mating ritual, but if I have to deal with Richie’s depressed ass for another week, I won’t be able to prepare for the first week of high school, and you know I need. Everything. Prepared. And. Organized. Go talk to him, so he can leave my house.” 

Or that’s at least how Beverley said he said it. 

Eddie would arrive at noon, but Richie was so excited he got up early at 6 am, taking a shower, already picking what outfit to wear, brushing his teeth thoroughly, doing his hair and spraying himself in way too much Cologne. 

And he finished all of that, by 7 am. 

So there he was, sitting on his bed, looking at his watch, checking every 5 minutes as if time would speed up just for him, for the remanding 5 hours. 

Eddie didn’t even arrive until 30 minutes after noon. But that didn’t matter, when Richie heard the door open downstairs, and then the light foot steps coming up the stairs, he quickly fixed his hair one last time, and then grabbed a comic book next to his desk, opening it to a random page and pretending he was reading. 

Eddie opens the door slowly, peering in and looking to Richie. He smiles soft, and steps in, gently pushing the door shut behind him. 

“Sorry I’m a little late. Did I make you wait too long?” 

Richie finally moves his gaze from the comic, up to Eddie, he isn’t wearing shorts, (which is a bummer) but instead some jeans, and a shirt that was way too small for him, (thank you Mrs. K) He gulped and shook his head, “nah? I didn’t even notice. I forgot you were even coming.” He tries for nonchalant but it more comes out as pained. 

Eddie frowns, but still moves to sit next to Richie on the bed, like always. Except its different, Richie’s heart starts slamming like pots and pans on his rib cage. 

Being so close to Eddie after having kissed him, even if it was a few weeks ago, felt like he just snorted a entire boot of cocaine. 

He was buzzing, and wanted to grab everything, mainly Eddie’s hand, but controlled himself. 

But even with the new weight between them, it still felt, in the end, the same. Richie guesses because maybe there was always something between them, even in the very start. But now? The cats out of the bag, and the cat is screaming, waking up the whole town, and demanding someone pet it. 

Eddie is first to speak. “Whatcha reading?” He asks, leaning closer. What was Richie reading? He closes the comic slightly, just to look at the cover, and instantly recognizes the issue. Number 220, ‘A Coffin for Spider-Man!’ One of his favorite.

He flips back to the front page, and allowed Eddie to read with him. They each trade turns reading out loud for each character’s speech bubble, Richie making exuberant voices for each villain, because Eddie had demanded to voice Spiderman. 

It was cozy, limbs tangled together, faces squished up against each other’s cheeks, flipping each page, reading all the way through to the end. 

It was nice, but Richie was still twitchy, trying calm his nerves. He reaches for a cigarette pack, grabbing one and watching Eddie cringe at it. But he knew he couldn’t say anything, this was Richie’s room. He remembered the one time he tried smoking in Eddie’s, it involved Eddie screeching at him for hours, and almost setting off the fire alarm, Eddie didn’t let him come back for months. 

He lights the cig, taking a deep inhale, and blowing it out of his nose. It calmed him, it really did, but at the same time, holding it, looking down at the flaming red tip made his hands begin to tremble. 

His eyes flickered, just for a brief second to the second cigarette burn on his arm next to the first. Like he thought, it didn’t stop. His mom had bought him some more long sleeved shirts though, knowing he was going to start school soon. They didn’t want any CPS knocking on their door anytime soon. 

And he knows Eddie notices him staring at the little cancer stick, looking anxious, and like he might vomit. 

Hey, but look on the bright side huh? Maybe a little bit of trauma can help a guy out with quitting smoking? Though he doesn’t think they will start implementing that technique at any addiction AA meetings. 

‘So, you snort crack cocaine off strippers asses, and shoot up heroin? Might I prescribe getting physically abused by your family?’

‘Thanks doc! But I’m pretty sure my daddy issues are the reason why I started Crystal meth in the first place.’

Eddie takes the cigarette away from Richie, easily swiping it from between Richie’s fingers as he was lost in thought. 

“You do realize how bad these are for you right?” Eddie sneers, looking from between Richie and the cigarette. 

Or, you could say, looking between two fags. 

The audience boo’s. Damn. Harsh crowd. 

“The amount of health issues alone? You and Bev need to stop. It’s not just cancer. Oh no.” He fidgets with it, waving it around as he spoke, “You two nerds are now at a higher risk of stroke and brain damage. Not to mention eye cataracts, macular degeneration, yellowing of whites of eyes. Your teeth could fall out! Heart disease, Fertility problems. Risk of pregnancy complications. Risk of type 2 diabetes. Weakened immune systems!” 

“Damn I would hate for my pregnancy to be anymore complicated then it will have to be. I was looking forward to motherhood, I heard you glow after giving birth, and I’m not about to pass up on the chance to look like a walking disco-ball.” 

“Obviously for that one, I was talking about Bev.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. 

“Still, the point is, this is dangerous.” He points at the cigarette, eyes big and concerned, looking like a mix of either being doe’d eyed or on the brink of death. 

“Yeah. But being dangerous, is cool.” Richie reply’s lamely, taking another hit from the cigarette, while it was still tightly pinched between Eddie’s fingers, making a show of it, never breaking eye contact as he did. 

Eddie’s eyes follow his movements, watching his lips wrap around the end of it in defiance, and blow the smoke out at the side of his head. 

“Fine then I’ll try it.” Eddie mumbles out quickly, turning the cigarette to put it to his lips. 

Richie pauses, staring at Eddie like he had grown two heads. He tilted his head to the side, tapping his ear like maybe he had some type of alien stuck in there, distorting Eddie’s words. 

“What now?” Richie babbles, gripping Eddie’s knees as he brought the cigarette close to his mouth. 

“You heard what I said. I’m going to try it.” 

Richie still feels like maybe he is dreaming, or is in some alternate universe, or maybe this is a prank, trying to see if Richie can be a good influence. He obviously isn’t though, when Eddie puts it between his lips. 

“Didn’t you just lecture me about the health issues? What if something bad happens to you? I don’t want you to like, i don’t know. Get that stuff you listed. It’s fine if I get it. But you?” 

“Well now you know how it feels.” Eddie eyes him, with a sad glare. “Plus. Like you said, it’s cool.” He mocks, finally taking a deep inhale. 

At first, it seems Eddie takes it actually really well, blowing out the smoke, eyes only watering a little bit at the corners, and then, he is coughing. 

Coughing so fucking hard Richie is afraid his lungs might fling out of his tiny body, and into Richie’s lap. Richie quickly moves to firmly pat Eddie’s back, trying his best to help him out as he wheezes and groans, voice sounding completely wrecked. 

The coughing fit lasts for almost a whole minute while rummaging through his pockets, finding his inhaler. He takes three large puffs, trying to catch his breathe, desperate to breath in clean air. 

Richie watches him, feeling a pain in his chest, and then looks back at the cigarette, still lit, and so tempting. Instead, he puts it out on his bed post, and throws the other half in the garbage. 

Then he turns and looks at Eddie, trying to figure out what to say.

Before he can even think though, Eddie, very slowly, offers him, his inhaler. Richie looks down still it, Eddie’s tight grip on the plastic, finger on top of the canister, ready to press down and give Richie some in return. 

Eddie breaths, slow and soft, “it helps. Maybe it will help you.” He sounds so sincere and genuine it almost breaks him. “It’s better then cigarettes.” 

At the time, Richie didn’t really understand the magnitude of what Eddie’s home life was like, and how that, this inhaler, did nothing but serve as a coping mechanism rather then actually serving any medical function. He didn’t understand that, Eddie desperately wanted, needed, to be able to share this crippling part of him with someone. But he would learn, in time. 

Richie leans forward, wrapping his mouth around the mouth piece without hesitation, and hits it. 

It doesn’t really taste like anything, but it does puff some air into his mouth. He watched as Eddie pulls it away straight from his mouth, and then back into his own. A indirect kiss.

They are inches away from each other, eyes never breaking from one another, as Eddie takes another puff, and presses the inhaler back into Richie's lips, this time his eyes daring to move to look at said lips. Richie accepts another puff. 

"Yeah.” Richie whispers when Eddie pulls the inhaler down, never moving his own face away from Richie’s. “Maybe it does help.” He hums, almost basically against Eddie's lips. They are so close, it makes him feel dizzy. 

And then they kiss. It’s quick, yet so soft and dreaming. It’s like a peck, and then they pull away. 

Richie can’t help the smile stretching over his cheeks, Eddie following suit, smiling ever so slightly. They just sit there, staring, inhaler between them, smiling at each other like two crazy people. 

Their happy bliss only last for a few moments however, when Eddie frowns, and Richie’s heart drops to his stomach. 

Did he do something wrong?

“Richie...” he says, in the kind of tone someone uses when they feel pity for him. 

Oh god no. This must be a joke. 

No, it isn’t a joke. The only joke here, is you. And you’re stupid feelings. Quickly, try to deflect by telling a crude joke, smother your emotions with humor and all will go back to normal. If you try hard enough, to you laugh about it enough, if you ignore it long enough, you can pretend you never felt a thing. 

“Hey. I get it Eds” Richie comes in, voice easy and natural. 

“I wouldn’t want to kiss me either. I mean common, I’m not no Cary Elwes. I could maybe pass as some junky wannabe hipster version of Dr. Emmet Brown, but who’s would wanna be anything other then best friends with a disgraced nuclear physicist.” 

Eddie stares at him, like he was stupid. Which, in Eddie’s defense, Richie usually was. 

“Richie I’m being serious. And no. It’s not you. God no it’s not you.” He says, voice cracking at the honesty. He sounds so vulnerable and sad, that it makes the jokes in Richie’s throat die out. 

For once, he listens. 

“Eds. If it isn’t me. Then—?”

“It’s not you it’s me.” 

“Wow, haven’t heard that one before, did you have to say the most cliche thing? I know you wanna let me down easy, but using a line like that on me is just insult to injury.” 

Eddie growls, like literally growls in frustration. “I’m being serious here Rich.” He pinches his nose, brows knitting together. 

He takes in a deep breath, composing himself the best he can. “Rich. I. I know how you feel about me. And I’m okay with it. Let me clarify, I’m not uncomfortable with it, and it doesn’t make me think differently of you.” 

He cards a hand through Richie’s hair, eyes gentle and touch even more so, like he was touching something so delegate it might fall apart in his hands. Richie thinks he might, just from the sad look in Eddie’s eyes. 

“And I do care about you. And I do have these feelings, about boys. And maybe you. Probably you. But. I’m just. It’s, it’s so much. And I’m just...” he searches for the words, voice becoming tiny. 

“Confused?” Richie offers, and Eddie nods. He understands, god he understands. 

He guesses he didn’t think about this. Richie had a few years of denial, and questioning, and some time to process and accept who he was. 

But Eddie? Eddie, out of all the other losers, even Richie, was specifically bullied for being gay. Targeted even. Because he was so high maintenance, overly clean and very heavily opinionated. And all that other stupid ass stereotypes. He must have been horrified to know that, in the end, unfortunately, it was true. 

He was so enraptured in not being, well. 

Sick. 

Unclean. 

Or ill in anyway. And in a place like Derry? You best believe homosexuality is associated to all of that, and then some. Not to mention, the AIDS epidemic is at its highest as of now. 

That might freak someone like Eddie out. 

That’s Richie’s theory at least. But it also could just be, that Eddie was a late bloomer, and that he personally needs more time. To figure himself out and his feelings. 

That’s Eddie’s theory at least. 

“I just. I don’t know how to feel about it. I’m confused, and I don’t know if I like it.” 

“You didn’t like to kiss?” Richie’s eyes almost pop out of his head, as regret and remorse fill him. Had he forced Eddie into those kisses? Was he a terrible friend? 

“Did you hate it??” Oh no.

“No!” Eddie quickly reassures, reaching to intertwine their hands. “I didn't hate it either I just. It's. Confusing. I had just came out to myself that very day. I didn’t even know I felt that way. I had never thought about it, until after you came out during the slumber party. I didn’t even hit me, until the movie was halfway through. So this is a lot of development I wasn't really prepared for.”

Richie physically relaxes.

“Eds.” He smiles, watching Eddie’s tense shoulders, “I completely understand.” He coo’d. 

“I’m sorry. I just. I need time.” Eddie adds, and Richie nods. “All my 13 years of life, I had my mother plan everything out for me. The kind of girl I would marry, what kind of house I would have, how many children I’d have. And now I just feel like all of that has been uprooted, and everything I’ve ever known, is now. Just. I don’t know!” He rests his face in his hands. 

“I understand.” Richie answers honestly. 

“And, I just, I need to also figure out my feelings, not just about you, but about boys in general, about everything about me. What it means about me. And how I act. And just. Ugh. Everything.” 

“I understand.” 

“And I’m just. So overwhelmed and it’s just—“

“I understand.” Richie smiles, “god I understand Eddie spaghetti. And you know what? You have me. Someone who is dealing with the same exact experience. So. If we ever need to trade notes, talk about it. We have each other.”

Eddie pauses, eyes meeting Richie’s, as a small smile, slowly slinks over his lips. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” He whispers, and this time it’s Richie reaching out to comb a hand through the other boy’s hair. 

“Kill a demon clown?” 

Eddie laughs slightly, and it fills Richie with so much warmth he feels like he might burst at the seams. 

“The kisses won’t ruin our friendship right?” Eddie asks, leaning into Richie’s touch. 

Well he didn’t think the conversation would go to this so quickly. 

“Nah. I also kissed Beverly and Bill, so really, we can just see those kisses as the same thing. Friends helping friends. They helped me figure out my sexuality, it’s all just what bro’s do for each other you know?”

Homies helping out homies. 

Dudes being dudes. 

Just buddies taking care of buddies. 

Eddie hums in thought. “So.... if I kiss you. It can be considered as you helping me out?” 

Richie grins. He very, very much likes this idea. “Oh yeah, of course. Totally.” 

Of course the difference was, he only ever kissed the other two for a few seconds. But with Eddie? He could kiss him for days and never get tired. Of course Eddie didn’t need to know that. 

“Okay. Well. I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet.” Richie frowns slightly, but his hopes hang onto the word ‘yet.’ 

“It’s okay. Take your time. All the time you need. I don’t want to rush you, or push you or anything. I know. How it feels. You know. And god, if I have to wait, to kiss you, I’ll wait till the end of time Eds.” 

He can see the dusty pink blush on Eddie’s cheeks and the top of his ears. 

“Thank you.” Eddie says, finally laying his head on Richie’s chest. Richie could die happy from just being able to hold Eddie like this, let alone the silent promise between them that maybe, at some point in the foreseeable future, they could become make out buddies. But knowing Eddie, that could be a year, or even two. But Richie really is willing to wait, for as long as he has to, until Eddie was sure of his feeling.

He wraps his arms around Eddie, inhaling his intoxicating smell. He knows, that no matter what, the most important thing is Eddie’s feelings, and how he is coping and handling all of this. And well, even Richie was still figuring things out, trying to push back any of the last bits of self hate and internalized hate towards being gay. 

They both had a long way to go, and a lot to figure out. But that was part of growing up. At least they had each other. So as their fingers interlock, Richie know, for Eddie, he really would wait for him, for 10. 15. 20. Maybe even 27 years if he had to. 

And he kept that promise too. For longer then both of them even could even imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you in the next installment. The characters will be aged up baby! So strap in!


End file.
